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Annie
“C
an we talk?” Owen follows me out to my Volkswagen.
“I need to think.” I rest my hand on Owen’s chest, keeping a foot of space between the two of us. Peering up, I meet the most earnest ocean-blue eyes I’ve ever seen. The chances of him coming out with aGOTCHAare not high. “I don’t want to hurt you, Owen.” And selfishly, I don’t want to be hurt. Men lose interest in me, at least romantically—this we know. I don’t want to lose him.
He’s changing everything.
“I don’t think you will.” He covers my fingers with his, keeping his body at a distance. He holds my hand with all the warmth and tenderness of a man actually and truly in love. Is that how he held my hand earlier today?
My head is a merry-go-round. I can’t think straight.
I swallow and remind him, “But that’s what I do. My own grammy has warned you to stay away from me.”
“I mean, there was another option.”
“Owen.” I shake my hand out of his and moan. “I have to go. I need a minute. Okay?”
“That’s fair,” he says, but I can already see the hurt on hisface. It’s already happening. I’m already doing what I do best—next to giving great advice. I’m driving him away with all the charm and sincerity of an unlovable oaf.
I slip into my car and painfully take my eyes off his to start the engine. I’m ready to run from this parking lot, from this whole situation.
My phone, sitting on the passenger seat, begins to jingle once more.
Kayla.
Whew. Thank the heavens above my grammy doesn’t do YouTube.
I answer the call and listen to Kayla’s voice ring through the speakers of my car.
I’m not sure what I expect—anI told you so. Or maybe something less mean but equally dramatic.
I don’t say hello, and surprisingly, my sister isn’t loud or crass.
“Annie,” she says, her tone gentle, “are you okay, honey?”
“I—” There are tears on my cheeks. When did I start crying? “I’m not sure.”
“Do you want to come over?”
Without even realizing it, I’m already on the highway for the twelve-minute drive to Post Falls. I’m headed to my sister’s as we speak. “Yeah,” I say, sounding so small, so futile.
Minutes later, I’m pulling up to Kayla’s ranch-style home. I shift my car into park and stare. My phone jingles, and Margo’s name drops down in a banner across the screen.
“No. No. No,” I murmur. Margo will have listened to the show, and she’ll be livid. I can hear her now.Your article is a service to the community, it’s not the dating game for personal use.It’ll be her way of reminding me that I am not Dr. Love. I can’t ignore the call, though. She’s my editor. She’s the reason I have this job. And I need my job. I swat a stray tear from my cheek and pick up the phone, holding the device to my ear. “Hello?” I say, mustering all the courage and confidence I can find.
“Annie, your email is blowing up.”
“My email?”
“Yes, since Sid’s livestream.”
“But we just aired,” I say. “We just—"
“Holy moly, girl.” She laughs, but before she can add the lecture, I interrupt her.
“I’m so sorry, Margo. I had no idea what Owen had planned. I’ll drop The ONE Experiment and get everything back on track. I promise. I’ll—”
