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“And humiliate myself when he turns me down?” Brynn sounds horrified by the suggestion. “No, thanks. Besides,” she says, slowly sipping her pomegranate lemonade, “I’ve run a risk analysis, and it’s not worth ruining a friendship over a relationship that will never last.”
Maybe I’m reading into things, but her statement feels aimed in my direction. I choke down a bite of white chocolate and cranberry crepe, barely noticing the flavor.
Harper glances between us, sensing the tension, but has the good sense not to mention it. However, she should have mentionedsomething, because the lull in conversation leads Brynn to ask, “How was the cooking class?”
Now it’s Harper’s turn to squirm. “I, uh, didn’t go.”
“You didn’t?” Brynn asks in surprise. “How come?”
“Something came up.” She shifts in her seat, fidgeting with the asymmetrical neckline of her effortlessly chic sweater. I’ve never seen Harper embody anything other than perfect poise and confidence, and frankly, her obvious discomfort is making me nervous. It occurs to me that Brynn’s reaction to Harper’s confession may give me insight into my own predicament.
“I had coffee with Ethan,” she admits, a little guiltily.
“What?” Brynn sets down her knife and fork, her food forgotten.
“It was strictly a business meeting,” Harper assures her. “I’d like him to design a website for one of my clients.”
This news relaxes the stiffness in Brynn’s shoulders, and she resumes cutting the Belgian waffle topped with raspberry compote into bite-size pieces.
“But if I’m honest,” Harper adds with a sigh, “I was hoping it would turn into something more. Unfortunately, Ethan doesn’t seem interested. My intuition tells me he likes someone else.”
Brynn’s knife clatters against her plate, startling not only me and Harper, but the couple at the nearby table. After a pause, she picks it back up and stabs the poor, unsuspecting waffle, slicing through the pillowy crust with a ferocity that makes me feel sorry for it.
“Brynn, are you okay?” Harper asks meekly, clearly feeling responsible for the sudden upset. Then, as if she guessed the main source of Brynn’s agitation, she adds, “Do you know who Ethan likes?”
“Why don’t you ask Quincy,” Brynn mutters.
A sudden hot flash hits me as Harper glances in my direction, both eyebrows raised. I gulp my ice water, wishing I could elicit a distraction and make my escape. Hoping I sound more nonchalant than I feel, I say as calmly as possible, “I can explain what happened. It’s not what you think.” I gather a breath. “First, some background information. Sebastian, my disaster of a Spin date, was in the cooking class last night. On a date that was clearly going better than ours. I was so flustered, I forgot to turn on the oven, and let’s just say, although I completed the class, it was an epic failure. When I got home, Ethan tried to cheer me up by teaching me how to make a frittata. Afterward, we talked and read in the living room and accidentally fell asleep. It was perfectly innocent.”
“It didn’t look innocent,” Brynn mumbles.
“I know. And I’m sorry. But I promise, nothing happened. We’re just friends.” Which is the truth, I remind myself. Just because my emotions are muddled beyond belief doesn’t change the facts.
Brynn sits quietly a moment, then softens. “Okay.” She sounds like shewantsto believe me more than she actually does, but before she can say anything else, her phone buzzes. She digs it out of her purse, checks the caller ID, then scoots back her chair. “Can one of you place the chips on my board for me? I have to take this.”
“Sure,” Harper offers, although I’m not sure it matters. We’re so far behind, we don’t stand a chance at winning.
I breathe a sigh of relief when Brynn ambles toward the privacy of the hallway leading to the restrooms. Crisis averted.
Then I notice Harper studying me intently.
“What?” I dab the napkin to my chin in case I dribbled syrup.
“You should tell her,” she says gently.
“Tell her what?”
“Look, Quincy. I like you. And even though this comes as a personal blow, I can put my own feelings aside for the greater good. Your friendship means a lot to Brynn. Since you arrived, she seems happier, more relaxed, and one degree less of a workaholic. I’d hate to see you two have a falling out because you’re too afraid to tell her the truth.”
“The truth?”
She holds my gaze, her countenance soft, almost empathetic, as she says, “You need to tell Brynn you’re in love with her brother.”
At the same moment, someone at a nearby table yells “Bingo!” as if punctuating her point.
I open my mouth to protest, but to my surprise and consternation, no words come out.
Could Harper be right? Am I in love with Ethan Delaney?
