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3
WILL
“Ah, my man,” Paul said with a grin as he caught the family-size bag of Doritos I tossed over the kitchen island. “I knew you wouldn’t leave me hanging.”
“I thought about it, though,” I replied.
My tone was light, but there was way more truth to that statement than I’d let on. I’d wanted to bail on the whole shopping trip more than once, starting with the moment I’d seen Aria’s car in the parking lot. And I probably should have followed through with it. If I had, I wouldn’t be putting away my groceries while thinking about peaches. Or the fact that Aria’s date was probably already at her place, ready for a home-cooked meal by now.
I couldn’t help but wonder what thisspecialdude looked like. I knew Aria dated, but now that I thought about it, I hadn’t ever seen any of the guys she’d gone out with. What was her type? Did she like tall guys, like me? Or did she prefer a more even-with-her-height situation? Did she like dudes with white-collar jobs? I bet she’d be good with a doctor or something. Someone who worked as much as she did so they wouldn’t get all whiny about her busy schedule. As a Marine in a high-tempo F-18 squadron, I definitely worked enough for that. Not that that mattered.
“You ran into Aria at the store?” Paul asked from behind me.
I stilled, the gallon of milk in my hand frozen in the space between me and the fridge. How the heck would Paul know that I ran into his sister at the store already? This town was something else. It was probably Ms. Hattie. Whoever she ran her mouth to had clearly already run theirs, and now here I was, feeling like I’d done something wrong when I definitely hadn’t.
I plopped the milk onto the plastic shelf in the fridge and shut the door, digging into the bags at my feet to put more groceries away. “Yeah, I saw her. How’d you hear about that?”
Paul chuckled. “She just texted me and asked if you remembered the Doritos this time.”
I straightened, fidgeting with the bag of grapes I’d just picked up. “She just texted you?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Huh.”
“What?”
I shrugged, putting the grapes in the crisper drawer in the fridge. “She’s supposed to be on a date right now. Pretty weird she’d be texting her brother during a date, don’t you think?”
Paul pulled a face, scratching his head. “Who’s the guy?”
“No idea.” I didn’t tell him that the only thing Aria had told me about her date was that he wasspecial.That little tidbit of info didn’t need to be repeated. And I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get the words out if I tried, anyway. “Oh, but I do know he bought her daisies before the date.”
“Daisies?”
Judging by Paul’s blank expression, he didn’t know any more about flowers than I did. “Yeah, man, duh. Daisies arenotromantic enough for a date. Lilies are way better.”
There was a long pause while Paul studied me, then he cracked a grin. “You’re so full of it. You ran into Ms. Hattie, didn’t you?”
“Yep. Besides, Aria likes pink roses.”
“She what?”
Realizing how strange it was that I knew that, I shook my head. “I heard her say it at some point, I don’t know.”
I wasn’t lying. I had heard her say it at some point, and I really didn’t know when it was. I did know that it was years ago. A decade, at least. In fact, maybe she didn’t even like pink roses anymore and that was just a teen girl thing. But since she wasn’t a child or an old lady, I was fairly certain they were a safer bet than daisies.
“Right, okay. Anyway, so some dude buys her daisies, which I guess is a lame thing to do, and now Aria is textingmeduring her date? Where were they going, anyway? Did she tell you?”
Just like when she’d first told me their plans for the evening, the same nasty, green, and totally out-of-line bout of jealousy washed through me. “Staying in, actually. She’s making him Shelby’s mom’s ziti.”
I was proud of myself for saying the words in such a casual tone when inside I was screaming them and waving my hands around. But that kind of reaction would look way too much like I cared, and I didn’t. Or, at least, as far as Paul was concerned, I didn’t.
“Wow, you’d think the dude was a winner if she was breaking out the ziti recipe.”
I shrugged noncommittally and picked up the plastic bags littered all over our kitchen floor, disposing of them before grabbing myself a beer. “You want one?”
“Yeah. But hang on, I’m gonna call Aria first.”
