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He sits down on the porch swing, sandwiching me between his warm body and Benny’s. My emotions are on fire, and the lust of my life looks back and forth between me and Benny. “So. What were we talking about?”
Don’t trust the universe.
We were talking about what in the whole wide world I’d wish for, and you appeared. Funny, right?
A glance at Benny tells me he’s not coming to my rescue here. Damn him for choosing this moment to make me face my feelings.
“We were talking about my crazy day,” I say, “and Benny asked what would make me happy, and you walked out with a drink.” I take it from him, adding, “So thank you. I am happy now.”
I take a deep drink and wow, Andrew does not mess around—this is not “heavy on the juice.” I’m surprised that flames don’t flicker off my tongue when I exhale. Next reboot, I’ll have to ask him to make one that tastes slightly less like fire.
“That’s strong,” I gasp, handing it to Benny, who sets it down on the table to his right.
“You are in rare form today, Maisie,” Andrew says, laughing.
I cough harshly, wincing through the burn. “Just living my truth.”
“I’m getting that.” I feel him look at Benny over the top of my head. “As long as you’re not upset with us for some reason?”
Guilt pierces through my reckless mood. Whether they’re figments of my imagination or pawns in the universe’s game, I love these people desperately. I’ll have to be kinder next time I lose my mind. “I hope I didn’t hurt your mom’s feelings.”
He laughs. “According to Dad, she’s been playing that Bob Dylan Christmas album for three weeks now and we’ve all told her it’s terrible. Maybe hearing it from someone who isn’t her son or husband will make a difference.” Andrew’s dark brows pull together. “But how did you know Dad forgot the Hendrick’s?”
“Weird hunch,” I say.
Andrew pushes out his bottom lip, sweetly considering this, and then nods like he’s totally satisfied with my non-explanation. He rolls with weird, surreal stuff almost as well as Benny does. “That must have been one hell of a dream you had on the plane. Last week I had a dream I worked at a carnival,” he says conversationally. “For, like, a week afterward I kept feeling like I was constantly late to work at the cotton candy booth. It was crazy stressful.”
This makes me laugh, and the three of us fall silent. The wind whistling through the tree line is the only sound until I can’t help it: “Why the cotton candy booth, though?”
“Are you kidding?” Andrew looks at me, incredulous. “That would be, like, the best carnival job.”
“The stickiest job,” I correct.
Benny hums in agreement. “I’d work the Tilt-A-Whirl.”
I grimace deeply. “That’s a lot of puke to clean up.”Andrew shivers in response, and I look at him. “What? You think people won’t be hurling around the cotton candy booth?”
Benny laughs and closes his eyes, tilting his face to the sky. “What are we even talking about anymore?”
The sun has long since disappeared behind the mountains, and I’m so deeply tired that it feels like gravity’s pulling more heavily on me. “Andrew,” I say, “it’s gonna be really cold out in the Boathouse.”
Beside me, he goes still. “How’d you kn—”
“Another hunch.”
He sits with this for a second, then says, “Still better than a bunk bed.”
“I guess,” I concede. “But let’s beat out those old sleeping bags in the basement before you head out there tonight. I don’t want you to freeze. Let’s save you and the protruding parts of your body.”
“I . . .” He stares at me. “Sleeping bags?” At my silence, he adds quietly, “Another hunch?”
“Yup.”
Two dimples dive into his cheeks. “You worried about me out there, Maisie?”
“I’m always worried about you,” I say.
“And my protruding body parts?”
Next to me, I sense Benny is valiantly trying to disappear into the swing.
“Always,” I say, adding with unbridled honesty: “I love you massively. Let’s get you set up out there, and then I can take a nap.”
When I look over at him, the moment elongates; he isn’t laughing, teasing, or playing. He’s just staring at me. Our gazes don’t break, and for just a breath, Andrew’s attention dips to my mouth and I see his lips make a small, surprised pout. Like he’s seeing something new on my face that wasn’t there before.
If only this were his fuse box moment, a boulder rolling over. A girl can dream.
Still, the sensation of his attention is a drug, and when I try to stand up, I weave in place, nearly falling. Both Benny and Andrew bolt up to catch me. But Andrew has me first and more securely—his hands come up to my forearms, steadying me as I crowd into his space.
