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“Oh?” Jace leans back in the booth. “Do you have, like, a checklist or something?”
“No,” I say, a little too quickly. Not one that’s written down anyway.
“She might as well.” Mack looks at Jace. “I keep telling her she’s too picky.”
“She’s allowed to be picky.” It’s like Owen has rumbled to life, and the second the words are out, I’m holding on to them as if they’re a bouquet of balloons that have lifted me off the ground.
“Oh?” Mack looks at him. “You think it’s smart to hold out for someone who’ll—what was it you said Emmy? —who’ll sweep you off your feet?”
Jace, ever the comic, smacks Owen on the arm and points at me. “Wait a sec. . .didn’t you literally do that a few weeks ago?”
I feel myself blush as Owen shoots him a look.
Mack continues eating while talking. “Owen doesn’t sweep people. Right, Grumbles?”
Owen snatches the half-eaten mozzarella stick out of Mack’s hand and shoves it in his mouth.
“Hey!”
“He doesn’t think it’s smart,” Jace says, nodding to Owen. “He’s made that very clear after listening to—”
“All I’m saying—” Owen cuts in— “is that both of you—” he makes sure to include his sister in this proclamation— “are entitled to hold out for someone who is exactly what you want. Make sure whoever the guy is, he ticks all the boxes.”
Mack takes a drink, then says, “Okay, so, if Emmy’s waiting for a guy who’s going to, say, take her stargazing in the back of a truck, you think that’s perfectly logical?”
“No way,” Jace says, straightening. “You’ve been listening to her too, haven’t you?!”
Mack grins. “The Hopeful Romantic?”
Jace laughs. “The guys at the station are obsessed.”
My cheeks are on fire. Yes, I use a voice changer. Yes, I do everything I can to be sure not to slip and give myself away. But nobody has ever mentioned the podcast in my real life before.
“I should go,” I say quickly, pushing Mack so she’ll get up and let me out of the booth.
“Chill, girl, what’s the rush?”
I fumble for an excuse. “I just remembered my mom asked me to water her mums!”
“Oh—kay,” Mack says. “Call me later then? And let me know when you hear from Chad! Maybe he’s the star gazing type.”
“Wait, what?” I freeze.
Mack grins. “I gave him your number!”
“Oh, no! Why?!”
“Because if you’re not going to put yourself out there, I’m going to do it for you.”
“Okay, sorry I have to run, night guys!” I’m about to dart out the door, shrugging my jacket on, when I realize Owen’s following me. I turn. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s dark out.”
“And. . .?”
“And I’m going to walk you back to your car.”
My stomach takes a shot at the uneven parallel bars but forgets how to dismount. “You really don’t have to. It’s Harvest Hollow. It’s perfectly safe.”
