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I chuckled. “No. Really. It’s a whole thing. You should look it up someday. Might even make a cool school project. Speaking of which, at least tell me the Instagram thing was for a school project.”

“What? No!” Viv sounded offended that I would even suggest such a thing. “As if my teachers would ever let me do something remotely cool like that.”

It was my turn to frown. “Then why did you ask your dad if it would be okay to do something related to the store?”

“I dunno.” She shrugged, biting off one of the Highland coo’s horns and groaning appreciatively. “OMG, these are soooooo good.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I dunno! I showed him some of the pictures I took, and he said something about using them, so I asked, ‘What? Like an Insta?’ and he said, ‘Yeah, sure.’” She shrugged again and nibbled on the other horn.

“Oh, so he didn’t really tell you it was a good idea. He was distracted and just kinda agreed with what you were saying?”

“Yeah!” She cocked her head and thought about it for a second. “Well, no. Because then I said, ‘You think that Meg would like it if I made an Insta for the store?’ and he looked up from his phone and nodded. Then he said something about it being a nice surprise and you’d probably appreciate the help with the marketing.”

“Huh” was all I could find to say.

“So I didn’t mess up?” she asked, looking hopeful.

I sighed. “No, you didn’t mess up. It was a nice idea. I wish you’d talked to me about it before you did it, but it came from a good place. And I obviously know nothing about social media, so if you want the job of social media manager, it’s yours.”

Viv sat straight up, her eyes gleaming with unabashed excitement. “Seriously? You mean that?”

I held up one finger sternly. “Only if it doesn’t get in the way of your schoolwork! And if you run every post or picture either by me or by Fiona before you put it online! Deal?”

She nodded enthusiastically, nearly vibrating in her chair with excitement. “You’re the coolest, Meg. Thank you.”

I snorted. “I think it’s safe to say that no one has ever said that about me before, but thank you.” Viv grinned at me and took a massive bite of the coo’s head. “And, hey, what you said earlier about messing everything up, you know that’s not true, right?”

She glanced away and shrugged, lowering the hand holding the cookie as though she’d suddenly lost her appetite. “Whatever. It’s not a big deal.”

“I know we don’t know each other very well yet, but if there’s ever anything you want to talk about, I might not exactly remember what it’s like to be a teen, but I’m a good listener. And I promise I’d only ever tell your dad something if I thought he had to know for your safety, and never without your permission.”

“Yeah. Whatever. Thanks,” she muttered, standing up and shoving the rest of her cookie in her pocket. “I have to go.”

I smiled as encouragingly as I could while trying not to wince. “You know where to find me!”

Viv shot me a grimace that I thought might have been an attempt at a smile and headed toward the shop entrance, her shoulders hunched and her head hanging down.

My heart ached as I watched her go. For a moment, I’d thought we were maybe getting somewhere, but I’d somehow put my foot in it again without knowing how.

TWENTY

Art stood at the edge of the kitchen in the apartment and watched me warily as I banged around, emptying the dishwasher and putting everything away. With Viv’s “Dad said I could!” looping around and around in my head, the best I could do was acknowledge him with a terse smile. If I told him I was upset, he was going to know why, and I couldn’t even find the words to explain it to myself, let alone tell him he’d overstepped without upsetting him.

I blew out a frustrated breath as I slammed a large bowl down on the counter. I couldn’t get it to fit in the small cabinet where I’d been storing the serving dishes. The issue wasn’t the other bowl and the three platters I’d found at the cute charity shop down the road; it was everything that had been shoved into the cabinet while the bowl had been in the dishwasher. I dropped to my knees and yanked out a few of the misplaced items.

“Hi, there. Everything okay?” Art asked in such an intentionally casual, breezy tone that I would have laughed if my emotions hadn’t been a gnarly, writhing mess clogging my throat.

“Yep. Everything’s fine,” I replied. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, you’ve tried to jam that pan into that cupboard three times even though it clearly didn’t fit the first two times. And you keep muttering something under your breath. Neither of which I’ve ever seen you do, so I was wondering if maybe something was bothering you, and you wanted to talk about it.”

Something about the way he stayed where he was, giving me my space but not running away, and his relaxed, unbothered tone sucked the energy out of my frenzy, and I slumped forward, resting my forehead against the drawer above the open cabinet where the large pan was never going to fit no matter how I turned it.

I’d been gearing up for a fight. My brain had been spinning out, mounting my defense. I’d lost count of how many times I’d already argued my case in my head, making wild assumptions about how defensive Art would be and what I’d have to say or do to make him hear me.

At no point had I considered that I wouldn’t have to come out swinging to defend my right to make decisions about my business and not have them foisted on me.