Page 33 of Never Your Valentine

“I wasn’t staring.”

“You were lurking in the doorway like some kind of craft-room cryptid.”

I grimace, because the alternative is smiling, and I’m not doing that. Not in front of her. “I was supervising. Making sure you did it right.”

June laughs. “You two are really something. You know there isn’t a wrong way to make art.”

The glue is drying. Annabelle doesn’t have to clean up the edges because she’s fused the pieces perfectly. “You’ve avoided most of the major pitfalls,” I say.

She rolls her eyes. “Look, Grant. I made a nice tray in your precious domain. Be proud of me or insult me, but commit to one.”

I pretend to consider. “It’s not bad.”

June steps forward. “That’s his way of saying he thinks it’s great.”

Annabelle’s smile is instant and victorious. “It is great. And it was a blast to make. Thank you, June. This was a treat.” She turns to me. “Enjoy your very…uh, rest of the day.”

She lifts the tray reverently, like it’s made of spun sugar rather than thrift-store junk. She nods at June. “See you at eight.”

“Can’t wait,” June says.

“Can’t wait for what?” I ask when Annabelle’s well and gone.

“Girls’ night at The Driftwood,” June says.

“Naturally. Because you’re besties. Instagram official.”

June puts the box of candlesticks away. “You might not have noticed, but Annabelle’s nice.”

“She’s too…” I don’t know why I’m having such a hard time with words today. How can I describe the way she gleefully does whatever she wants, as if she’s never had an awkward day in her life? Or the way her right eye crinkles up when she’s amused, almost like a wink? And how much I like it when it’s directed at me? I decide to focus on that last one. “She’s too cheerful,” I say. “It gets on my nerves.”

“She’s sweet,” June says.

“You mean naïve.”

“She’s funny.”

“She’s goofy.”

“And she’s beautiful,” June says.

I open my mouth. Close it. Words. Where did they go?

June crosses her arms and tilts her head. “We could bat adjectives back and forth all day, or you could admit that Annabelle is awesome.”

I retreat to my office. My desk. My accounts. My sister wants words to describe Annabelle? Here we go. She makes me feel unbalanced. Confused. With wild thoughts that don’t belong in my head.

Or how about this? She’s risky. She’s dangerous.

And way too tempting.

Chapter 13

Annabelle

The Driftwood smells like pine, beer, and the faint sweetness of hot cider. The lights are low and unapologetically yellow, reflecting off framed photos of fishing tournament champions and a mural of a moose near a misty lake. The corkboard by the door advertises church bingo and trucks for sale.

I spot my friends at a table in back. Lia looks cozy in a thick cable-knit sweater. June’s in a slouchy beanie and a puffy vest. Sophie’s fleece is zipped to her chin, her thick hair in a high ponytail. They look like they fit right in.