Page 47 of Never Your Valentine

I drag my basket to the basement. After I throw my first load in the washer, I spot one of Grant’s t-shirts on the floor. I pick it up and hold it at arm’s length. It’s navy blue with white writing that says, “World’s Best Euchre Partner.” The fabric is soft and broken in. I bet Grant loves this shirt. I should give it back to him. But maybe wash it first? Is it clean? Dirty?

Don’t smell it, I tell myself. Just give it back to him. Whatever you do, do not smell that shirt.

I bring it to my nose. Inhale. It smells like snow and cedar and some unidentifiable scent that makes me go weak in the knees. Heat rushes to my core and I moan a bit. I actually moan. This dirty t-shirt wants me to take it to bed and sleep with it like a wubby.

No. Bad. Danger, Annabelle, danger. I fling open the washer and throw the shirt in. I breathe deep, calming my system. On my way upstairs, I detour outside for a moment where the fresh air doesn’t smell at all like a hot man.

When the wash and dry cycle is done, I sniff the shirt again, but all I can smell is Tide. Now I can get revenge on the laundry hog. The t-shirt slides easily over my heavy sweatshirt. I look like a kid wearing the oversized jersey of his sports idol, but I don’t care about that. I only care that Grant will hate it.

He does.

I find him in the front room of The Break, unpacking a box of dishware with June. When Grant sees me, his eyes widen in surprise for a split second before his eyebrows slam down and he growls, “You can’t wear that.”

“This?” I ask, trying for innocence before a giggle escapes me.

“It’s my lucky shirt.”

“Aww, are you afraid my girl cooties ruined it for you?” I pull the shirt away from my body and lower my voice. “You will be cursed with losing cards from now on. Nothing but nines and tens.”

June gasps. “You play euchre?”

“Of course.” Euchre is an easier, rowdier cousin of bridge. It only uses half a deck and can be learned in the time it takes to drink one beer. I haven’t played since college, but I still remember how.

“We play every month at our family dinners,” June says. “You should come sometime.”

“Sure.” I know this is just Midwest politeness. I’m not really being invited to the Neverly’s house. But still, my heart flutters a bit. A big family dinner? Mom adding another leaf to the table, and Dad putting more logs on the fire, and coats piled on the bed because they won’t all fit in the closet? Eating and drinking with people who can remember what you did when you were five years old? And it takes ten minutes to leave because you have to hug everyone in the room first, and then tell them one more story? That kind of family dinner?

“It’s on Sunday,” June says. “Does five o’clock work for you? I’ll tell my parents to set an extra place.”

“This Sunday?” I do a mental rewind. She was actually inviting me?

Grant’s mouth is pinched tight like he’s trying to hold in swear words. He’s gripping his wrists, one and then the other.

June straightens a stack of plates. “You can make it, right?”

Grant stiffens. “I’m sure Annabelle’s busy on Sunday.”

“No I’m not,” I say.

“She’s not,” June crows. “She’s coming.”

Grant’s breathing heavily through his nose. “Don’t you have more greeting cards to make? They’re probably not sweet enough yet and you have to add more⁠—”

“What can I bring?” I ask June.

“My shirt,” Grant growls.

“Oh I like this,” June says. “Annabelle, you can be on my team. Bring some pop if you want. And bring the lucky shirt. We’re going to make him win it back.”

Chapter 18

Grant

Annabelle goes back upstairs, taking my favorite shirt with her. There’s a moment of silence while I make sure she’s gone and then I turn on my sister. “That’s just evil. You can’t deprive a man of his lucky shirt.”

“This can be your scientific test.” June sorts out wicks for teacup candles. “To see if the shirt is truly lucky. Can you still win without it?”

“I don’t want to do a test.” My forehead is on fire. I swat at the air. “Why did you invite her? You know she’s going to show up.”