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I also saw an invoice for a karaoke machine.
“There will be karaoke, so absolutely not.”
“Oh, you won’t get to hear my singing voice.”
“What a shame,” I say sarcastically.
“I’ll have you know I’m an excellent singer.”
I swivel again, with a deliberate stiffness and no head sweep, which is my signature move. I can’t be wrangled into a duet. Crossing my arms, I look up to this wide-eyed happiness monster who is currently the bane of existence. My rudeness is not fazing her at all.
She opens her mouth, and everything shifts to slow motion. If she sings a cappella, I will cringe so hard, I might sprain something. I wave my hands at her, and the “No” barely crosses my lips before a bright smile burst through hers.
“Gotcha,” Shiloh says. “I know how to torture you now.”
“You’re doing such a good job already.” I close my eyes and bring my hands together in a praying motion. I tap the tips of my fingers against my forehead.
“Come on, come! I’ll keep you company!”
“All the more reason not to go.” I look at her. “How about getting out of my office?”
“Sure.” She knocks the door frame and almost leaves but then peeks her head in, like she’s leaning back at an ungodly angle.
“Have a lovely Wednesday!”
“Goodbye, Shiloh,” I say, and dammit, it almost sounds encouraging.
I’m alone for mere seconds before my sister strolls in and sits down on my desk without an invitation.
“Christ, what doyouwant?”
“One pump of caramel, huh?” Emily asks.
I point my finger at my sister because it’s not rude, it’s called interacting with a sibling.
“You don’t tell anyone,” I say.
Emily crosses her arms. “Shiloh impresses me. She’s not scared of you like the others.”
“I prefer the fear.” I take another sip and try not to groan.
“Come to the end-of-season party. I swear you’ll be off-limits for karaoke.”
I look up at her and point in the direction of Shiloh’s trajectory. “She will pull me up for a duet. I just know it.”
“Karaoke isn’t the worst thing you can do,” Emily says. “Seriously, be nice to Shiloh. She’s only trying to get to know you. She’s a hoot.”
“I have to get back to work.” I swivel back to my computer, dragging my feet along the floor.
Emily leaves, but stalls in the doorframe. “You can’t hide in the brewery forever.”
“Watch me. One more year, and I can leave this place,” I say.
“It must be tiring,” she says. “Hiding.”
The numbers swirl on the screen as her words hang in the air like a children’s mobile.
“Did you and Mom come up with a script to follow to get me to come to these things?”
