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And if I have to—if she never reciprocates—I’ll fight for normal and friendship until we are us again.
I can’t keep living this insanity.
It isn’t working.
I pull up Annie’s email to Ready in Red once more and read over the advice she gave to him. To me.
I’ve complimented, I’ve touched her, I’ve made eye contact. I’ve served her. Things I’vealwaysdone, just at a higher level, with different intentions.
Then, I read her last piece of advice.
It’s something I haveneverdone.
Make some big grand confession somewhere she can’t ignore you or run from you.
“You are the one who suggested it,” I say to Annie—though she isn’t here to defend herself. I’m merely talking to myself.
My phone rings from my pocket, and I pull it out to see Annie’s still form smiling back at me, her name in a banner across her forehead. She’s calling. We’re meeting in fifteen minutes, but she’s calling.
“Annie?”
“Hey,” she says. “I’m walking into Sid’s recording room now. Do you need directions?”
“Nah. I have the address.” I swallow past my sandpaper tongue.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this, Owen? I’m sorry my editor pushed so hard. I can call her back and—”
“No,” I say, meaning it. “I’m okay with it. I want to do this.” And I do. This may be the first part of this experiment that I’m all in for. “I’m on my way.”
Where Annie would normally give me a quick hug hello, today she just waves three feet from me. It’s been this way ever since she tried to kiss me almost a week ago.
“This way,” she says, walking down a dead hallway. There’s no life in this office building.
“Annie.” I reach out for her, snatching hold of her long fingers. “Are you okay?”
She gives me a soft smile, a warm and gentle glow in her eyes and cheeks. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”
“You are?”
She nods, but I don’t let her turn away. If she’s truly okay. If we’re going with “normal,” then I’m going to act how I normally would. I pull her close and wrap my arms around her back, hugging her tight.
She pulls in a breath and releases it into my chest.
I don’t pull back. I’m in no hurry. With her head pressed to my chest, she sighs. “You have a way of making everything better. You always have.”
I trace my fingers down the length of her hair and between her shoulder blades. “I do?”
“Yes. You do. It’s your superpower. That, and always being happy. You are my personal sunshine.” She chuckles a little before pulling back and peering at me. “That’s why I stole you from Kelsey Martinez and claimed you for my best friend way back in third grade. Because you may be the sweetest. But I’m the smartest.”
“Kelsey who?”
“You don’t remember Kelsey Martinez? She wore yellow leggings every single day. They must have been her mom’s because they were long out of style. And when she told me that she was going to make you hers. I told her that you were already mine.”
My brows draw upward—I’ve never heard this story, but I must say it buoys my confidence.
I’m still staring at Annie—in wonder, pondering if I should just confess all my secrets here and now—when a gray-haired man in brown shorts, pink crocs, and a button-up Hawaiian shirt pokes his head from a doorway down the hall.
“Annie?”
