AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Whoa. Easy on the X-rated stuff when my little sister’s inside and waiting to meet you.” Chuckling, Hannah grabs my hand and pulls me inside the apartment, where I discover a young brunette who strongly resembles Hannah.
“Madelyn, this is Peter Hennessey—Henny.” Hannah smiles at me. “Henn, this is my little sister, Madelyn. Maddy. Madelyn the Badasselyn.”
Maddy rolls her eyes playfully at that last moniker, while opening her arms to me for a hug. “It’s great to meet you, Henny. I’ve heard wonderful things about you.”
“I’ve heard wonderful things about you, too. I’m looking forward to seeing Shoot Like a Girl at your film festival on campus.”
Maddy gasps and looks at her big sister with wide eyes. “You didn’t tell me Henn is coming!”
“I didn’t want to say anything, in case his plans changed.”
My eyebrows ride up. Seriously? After all my daily texts, and all the bouquets of flowers I’ve sent, and all the times I’ve told Hannah wild horses couldn’t keep me from making it to Seattle, Hannah wasn’t certain I’d actually make it?
“I hope it’s okay for me to come to the festival,” I say. “Hannah told me your film is a documentary masterpiece and I’m a huge fan of the genre.”
“I’m thrilled you’re coming! My biggest fear in life is the theater being totally empty for my little world premiere, after I’ve spent the last year of my life working so hard on my film.”
She’s adorable. The kind of person, like Hannah, you’d hope would be the one to find your lost wallet, because you’d know she’d move heaven and earth to return it to you, untouched, even if it was stuffed with two thousand bucks. If Hannah hadn’t expressly asked me not to ask Reed for his assistance in getting Maddy into UCLA, meeting Maddy now and beholding her sweet, genuine energy would have been enough to make me bypass Reed all together, hack into UCLA’s system, and get her admitted myself. I can’t imagine UCLA’s system could be much more difficult to infiltrate than U Dub’s, and that was easy peasy lemon squeezy. Or is it pumpkin squeezy, like Hannah says? Damn. Hannah’s got me rethinking everything.
Hannah heads to her kitchen to put the flowers I’ve brought her into water, so I sit on the couch and converse with Maddy about her documentary. A few minutes later, Hannah returns and asks if I’d like a tour of her place.
“Lead the way.”
There’s not much to see, in terms of square footage. The place is a shoebox. But Hannah’s certainly made the most of her small living space. It’s warm and welcoming. Bursting with color and character.
When we reach Hannah’s small bedroom, the latest bouquet I sent her is displayed proudly on her dresser. When she notices me noticing the flowers, she says, “I can’t thank you enough for all the flowers you’ve sent me.”
“It was my pleasure. Glad you liked them.”
Hannah is blushing. Fidgeting. Looking flustered.
Suddenly, I’m painfully aware we’re standing mere inches from her bed. What would we do right now, if Maddy weren’t in the next room?
Clearing my throat, I gesture to a framed photo on Hannah’s dresser. It features Hannah, Maddy, and an older woman who resembles the two sisters. “Is that your mom?” It’s a weird and stupid question. Stupid because the woman looks too much like Hannah and Maddy not to be their mother, and weird because I’m asking the question with a tingling dick. But it’s the only thing I could come up with in the moment, after all the blood from my brain whooshed between my legs at the thought of what we might do in Hannah’s bed at some point this week.
Hannah confirms the woman in the photo is, indeed, her mother. She also tells me the photo was taken during a trip to nearby wine country. She doesn’t tell me about the absence of her father in the shot. Hannah already mentioned at dinner in Vegas that her father isn’t in her life and that her mother has had perpetually shitty taste in men since her parents’ divorce years ago.
“Are you ready to head to the restaurant?” Hannah asks.
“Let’s do it.”
We say goodbye to Maddy and head out to my rental car on the street. As we walk to the car, I slide my hand in Hannah’s, the same way I did in Las Vegas, and the minute our palms connect, the effect is the same as then. Fireworks.
I open her car door and let go of her hand, so she can take her seat . . . and as I walk around the bumper to my side of the car, I realize I’m flexing my hand in earnest. Not as a tribute to Pride & Prejudice. Not to be funny. But because this woman actually makes me feel like I’ve been physically electrified by her touch.
