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So your advice is for me to swallow down my very real, very earnest feelings simply because I’m not a fictional character?
This must be a man.
No greeting. No goodbye—just defense. Although I’m being rash, Owen wouldn’t behave this way. But lame Belle, who I’m certain is all wrong for my BFF, might. I’m immediately slapped with what Kayla said. I don’t even know Belle. And If Owen likes her, she’s probably worth liking.
Greeting or not, I can’t ignore his email.
Dear Ready in Red,
I start professional—this is still my job, after all.
How sure are you that your feelings are sincere? Are they real enough to risk your friendship? That’s the question. I wouldn’t advise anyone to lie about how they are feeling.
Sincerely,
Ask Annie
“There,” I say and brush my hands together. Done.
Except, Ready in Red isn’t done with me.
Then, what’s a guy to do? My feelings ARE real. But I also don’t want to lose her friendship.
“HA!” I yell while pointing at my computer screen. “Guy! I called it.”
And while this guy may not be polite enough to start and end his replies with a greeting—really, he did in his initial letter—a reply doesn’t necessarily call for it. I am being… what did Kayla call me the other night?Prickly. And he does seem sincere.
I hit reply, and like Ready in Red, I don’t bother with a greeting or a goodbye this time.
Let me do some research. I’ll have a letter for you in Sunday’s paper.
21
Owen
“S
o, when’s your date?” Levi says as we lift a piece of sheetrock against one of the exposed walls in my bedroom.
“Tonight. Annie should be here any minute with my daily dose of dating advice.”
Levi grunts. I’ve decided his dislike is all my fault. It’s my own doing—hiding all these years. Meredith is right. I’ve been insane. And all it’s ever gotten me is mush. Not literal mush. I become the mush, which is way worse.
“You don’t sound excited.” My brother holds out a hand. I steady my side of the sheetrock with one hand, and with the other, I hand him the screw gun.
“For the date I don’t really want to go on?”
“That, and Annie coming over,” he says above the noise of the power tool in his hand.
I clear my throat and hold my hand out for the screw gun. “I always like it when Annie comes over.”
“Except…” he says and waits like he’s expecting me to finish that sentence.
And then, I do. “Except that I took Meredith’s advice, and I wrote Annie a letter and… I didn’t love her advice.”
“Really? The all-righteous, all-knowing Annie Archer isn’t perfect?”
“I’ve never said she’s perfect.” But she’s close. She’s kind and funny. She isn’t afraid to get her hands dirty. She’s beautiful—like crazy, insanely beautiful. She truly wants to help people. Which is why her advice to just forget about my feelings without even really knowing the circumstances or depth was frustrating—and unAnnie-like. I’m anxious to see what she writes in tomorrow’s paper.
