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August doesn’t acknowledge his aunt’s mockery, still frowning at me. “You don’t wear dresses.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Not likethat.”
He’s got me there. The last time I wore a dress like this…Well. I got pregnant, didn’t I? At least I can’t do that tonight.
Silver linings, I guess.
“It’s just a dress, kiddo.”
“But you don’t look like you.”
“Jesus, Auggie.” Willow cuffs her nephew upside the head. “Is that really how you talk to a woman?”
Rubbing the back of his head, August tosses a scowl at Willow before turning back to me, finally shedding that frown with a sigh. “You look pretty.”
“Hm.” I drag him into my side, kissing his cloud of light curls. “Thank you.”
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” I ask for the hundredth time, receiving the same answer for the hundredth time; a pinched expression that contradicts a gruntedyeah.
I can’t blame him for his lack of enthusiasm. This is new for both of us, me dating. Someone new in our life. Add the pregnancy on top of that, and I think my boy is allowed a little grace. Plus, I am about as eager to chat about my dating life with him as he is with me, so I forgive the dismissive answers, and reminisce on the eleven years we spent lacking this problem.
When the doorbell rings—Willow takes off like a shot, something I both expected and deeply dreaded—but August hangs back, and so do I. “You wanna say hi to Cass?”
His grimace deepens. “Do I have to?”
“No.” I give him a gentle shake. “But I think he’d like it if you did.”
To his credit, he really thinks about it. He takes his time mulling it over, tallying a mental pros and cons list—what I wouldn’t give to see that. Ultimately, though, he shakes his head. “Maybe next time.”
Next time. Right. Because there’s going to be a next time.
Get through tonight first. Freak out over the imminent future second.
August lingers just long enough for me to press a kiss and an ‘I love you’ to his temple before scampering off to his room. I watch him, briefly wishing I could follow, before following my sister’s voice into the living room. “Have her home at a reasonable hour. I’d tell you to wrap it up but that ship has sailed.”
“Willow,” I half-hiss, half-sigh. I get she has a decade or so of big sister meddling to make up for but c’mon. Now is not the time.
Her grin flits to me, and in the split second it takes Cass to do the same, I get my hopes up.
Because he’s in a suit. A pale lilac suit with a white silky shirt underneath, unbuttoned to almost an indecent extent. His short curls are styled to perfection, glossy and dark. When I sniff, the scent I’ve spent an inordinate amount of time trying to decipher—my search history is an endless, creepy jumble of cologne descriptions—fills my nostrils, more floral than usual. When I drop my gaze, I find the culprit; the bouquet in his hands.
He’s try-harding it too, and it almost makes me smile.
Until Willow bursts my bubble.
“Jesus. Y’all make a hot couple.”
Couple.Fakecouple.
Fake, Sunday. It’s all fake.
As fake as the smile I flash when Willow finally leaves the room, and I murmur, “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be.” Cass cracks a smile too, and I hate how easy it is, how unbothered. “I’m immune to embarrassing family members.”
“Right.” I link my hands behind my back so he doesn't see all the nervous twiddling my thumbs are doing. “You look nice.”
