AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter 1
The Great Shame
“Grace!” My sister, Claire, gallopsout of her tiny house with a giggling baby on her hip. That she is already a wife and mother at the ripe age of twenty makes it increasingly difficult for me to maintain my oldest-sibling mindset, especially during the few weeks of summer when we share the same age. I’ll pull ahead in years again next week, but she has far surpassed me in adulting.
Baby squeals from behind a slobbery fist soften the tightness in my chest and reassure me that this weekend trip to Denver will be worthwhile, even if it does include Claire setting me up on a date. Little Ava is the only reason I agreed to the torture.
I relieve my sister of her cherub and nuzzle Ava’s belly with my face. “Smells like someone needs a diaper change,” I say over baby giggles.
“Oh, sorry,” Claire says, reaching to take her back.
“No way.” I kiss Ava’s head and breathe in the much sweeter smell I find there. It sends a wave of longing through my heart.Someday, I think. For now, I’ll content myself with being the world’s best aunt. “I crossed the Continental Divide to see her and I’m not sharing. Tell me your AC works.”
“Yes, thank heaven. I’d be dying if it didn’t, having this little heater on my lap all the time.” She tickles Ava and receives a happy squeal in return. “C’mon,” she says, shooing me toward her home. “You don’t want to get all sweaty before your date.”
I’d rather ignore this reminder of why I was invited to visit, but as I kneel on the floor to change Ava’s diaper, Claire insists on telling me all about the guy and how he and my brother-in-law met building wells in Ghana. I tune out, focusing on the baby and stifling the irritation I feel at my younger sister’s insistence on setting me up. She knows I’d do anything for her, but in addition to the family issues I’ve been dealing with and the fact that literally no one enjoys a setup, I have yet to recover from the last guy.
Granted, it wasn't an actual relationship, but still. I have a major crush on this guy, Alec, who recently moved into my apartment complex. In addition to his general attractiveness and the fact that he exceeds by several inches my minimum height requirement of six feet, he’s smart, nice, and even plays the divine sport: volleyball. Besides being the most civilized of sports—no Neanderthal maulings, just a gentlemanly game of smashing the ball into your opponent’s face, players neatly separated by a net—it’s also the sport most easily adapted to coed play. Definite bonus. I mean, I can appreciate the sight of an attractive man volleying in the sand as well as the next girl, but I prefer participation to observation.
I’ve dropped hints to Alec about our shared enjoyment of the sport for weeks, checked the sand courts at our complex religiously, even managed to give him a glimpse of my ball as I brought it into my apartment one day, but nothing developed from my semistalking. Alec evidently prefers the spectator type of female, as proven by his rapid acquisition of the most unathletic arm candy in our college-student neighborhood.
But. They’ve only been together a few weeks. I allow myself to wonder how long it will take him to realize his mistake and—
The front door opens, admitting two male voices just as I blow another round of raspberries into Ava’s silky-soft tummy. It is not, perhaps, the best first impression I’ve ever made, considering my backside is raised stink-bug style toward the door.
I quickly reseat myself on the floor, scooping up the giggling baby and pasting what I hope is a carefree smile over my embarrassment before I dare to look up. I’m pleasantly surprised when I do.
Dark, straight hair worn long enough to brush my date’s ears and collar, olive skin similar to my own, build slightly on the too-lean side of slender. His eyes crinkle at the corners with an inviting smile, and tightly groomed stubble enhances his square jawline. He definitely fits the “cute” and “nice” Claire promised, though the three-day beard makes his look gravitate rogue.
My brother-in-law, Ryan, gives me a hand up, takes the baby, and says, “This is my sister-in-law, Grace.”
More interested than I care to admit, I make it to my feet and stretch to my full height, meeting his eyes. Nice eyes, hazel, that look into my boring browns and draw me in—until an alarm goes off in the back of my head. I am looking directly into his eyes. Not up. Straight in.
This guy—I don’t even catch his name, though Ryan’s voice sounds in the background—is barely my height. And since I'm wearing flats, that puts him in the neighborhood of five foot ten—decidedly less than my minimum of six feet tall.
Renewed and amplified annoyance at Claire axes any attraction I may have imagined. What the heck is she thinking? She knows about the requirement, and it’s not like it’s completely unreasonable. That a woman of height wants a tall husband must be as universally acknowledged a truth as Austen’s “single man in possession of a good fortune” wanting a wife. And it goes both ways, as evidenced by all the boys from my youth who refused to consider interest in a girl—aka, me—who was taller than them.
My date’s smile falters, and I wonder what about me he’s found disappointing. I have a long list of shortcomings, but even with my disinterest it hurts a little that he’s already noticed. Maybe it’s my height. Turnabout is fair play, I guess. While we shake hands and murmur some socially acceptable niceties, I manage to simultaneously throw dagger eyes at Claire. She pretends not to notice since she’s giving the newly arrived babysitter a rundown on Ava’s routine, but even a pointed whisper about my height requirement draws no reaction from her as we walk to the car.
We drive somewhere for dinner, the conversational flow in the car left to Claire’s management as I stew on the best way to get even. Hitting a volleyball at her sounds pretty therapeutic, and that steers my thoughts back to more pleasant territory. Fanciful images of Alec and me on the sand court—me setting him a perfect ball to smash, his blond hair against my dark curls as we enjoy a victory hug—carry me all the way through the car ride.
Carne asada wafting out the restaurant door awakens my ravenous appetite and brings me back to the present. My date holds the door open for all of us to enter and waits for another group to exit before joining us inside. I’m about to voice my thanks when none other than Mandy Miller sidles up to our group. Pain slices through my chest, white-hot anger on its heels.
“Hi, Grace,” she drawls, not even bothering to look my way as she checks out my date.
I draw in a breath and take one step her way, but Claire’s fingers digging into my elbow save Mandy from a verbal barrage. Or a bloody nose.
“Mandy,” Claire says with a curt nod, steering me away. “Not worth it,” she hisses into my ear as she shoves me toward a booth in the back.
“But if she hadn’t—”
“She wasn’t even with Benson that night. It’s in the past. Drop it.” Claire seals off her own disquiet and replaces it with a smile as the guys join us. I envy that ability—accepting things as they are and moving on. I used to think she didn’t feel things as deeply as I do, but that isn’t it.
Maybe it’s just Ryan’s influence. Mellow and forgiving as ever, I overhear him dismissing Mandy as “just a girl from back home” while my date slides in next to me. The scoff I offer in response—in addition, no doubt, to the fire still smoldering in my expression—must encourage my date to leave extra space between us on the bench. Not that I mind. In fact, the seating arrangement is perfect because I won’t have to look at him at all.
Thankfully, Mandy was on her way out, and by the time we place our orders I nearly have my emotions back in line. I’m handing the waiter my menu when a group of late-teenage boys comes in. Spent anger no longer covering my pain, I watch the group. I’ll never see Benson like that with his buddies again. Oblivious to the conversation at my own table, I focus on the tallest boy as the group settles in. Unfortunately, their table is diagonal from our booth, giving me a full view. He doesn’t look much like Benson but sports a similar hairstyle and confidence.
Claire kicks me in the shin under the table. I blink myself back.
