CHAPTER ONE
I’m goingto become a hermit. Before you decide I’m crazy and move on to something else, let me explain why.
1. Hermits don’t fall in love with the sons of family friends and end up heartbroken when they bring home girlfriends from college at Thanksgiving.
2. Hermits don’t have well-meaning sisters who hound them to move on with their lives after such a heartbreak.
3. In fact, with all the lovely new grocery services, hermits don’t have to talk to people at all. They can peek out the door with wild hair, sans makeup, in pajamas, and pull the bags inside whilst tossing a tip at the delivery boy.
4. And, most importantly, hermits don’t end up on dates with good-looking guys who are so long-winded, they make even the worst politician seem concise in comparison.
“And that’s how I convinced management that blue ties should be stipulated in the dress code,” my date says, finishing up a long monologue about something that I’m sure you’ve already surmised was as boring as dirt.
I hold back a yawn, nod politely, and take a quick peek at my phone, which is sitting on my lap. It’s only seven forty-eight—too soon to call it a night and too late to crawl out a bathroom window and make a run for it.
“So, tell me about yourself, Harper,” Kevin says as he leans forward and crosses his hands on the table like we’re at a job interview.
Because he’s cute and it’s been too long since I’ve been on a proper date (or a date of any sort, actually), I set my elbow on the table, and let my hand drift over my neck as I give him my best come-hither smile. “What do you want to know?”
He frowns, perhaps confused why I’m asking for prompts. “The usual—where you’re from, hobbies, life aspirations.”
I sit back and sigh. It’s not going to work out with Kevin, no matter how good-looking he is. “I grew up here, I like to bake, and I’m still figuring out what I want to do with my life.”
“Really?” Kevin gives me a perplexed look. “How old are you?”
“I turned twenty-one last month.”
“And you don’t know what you want to do yet?”
I shrug. I had planned to become a pediatric dentist, and then I came to terms with the fact that I’m rather averse to bodily fluids. I’ve been considering going to culinary school, but I’m not sure that’s right for me either. What I really want to do is start a baking blog and write a cupcake cookbook. However, the thought of admitting those new life goals to my parents makes the idea far less appealing.
“There’s still time to decide,” I say, hoping with all my heart that’s true.
Kevin’s eyes dart to his wristwatch, and I almost laugh out loud. I’m boring him.
“Will you excuse me for a moment?” I ask, already rising. “I need to visit the ladies’ room.”
He stands with me, probably trying to be a gentleman, but it’s just awkward. I give him a small, somewhat forced smile, andhurry past the table. The restaurant is the usual fancy sort of establishment—white tablecloths, sparkling wine glasses, fussy settings. The waitstaff wears black slacks and white button-up shirts with short, black aprons. It’s all very classy and elegant.
The bathroom even has a couch, which is convenient since I have a call to make.
My sister’s phone goes to voicemail, so I proceed to call several friends. When no one answers, I frown and scroll through my phone book. Finally, I click “Lauren,” though I don’t expect her to pick up either. Everyone’s probably out celebrating since classes just let out for winter break, and my sister’s best friend is sure to be enjoying her Friday night like everyone else.
The phone rings twice, and then a guy answers. “Hey, Harper. How’s it going?”
No, no, no. I stare at my phone in horror.
Hewasn’t supposed to answer. What’s he doing with his sister’s phone anyway?
“Harper?” he repeats.
“Bran…Brandon? I mean hi. Hello.” I grimace at how syrupy I sound and clear my throat, taking it down a notch or four. “Hey.”
“Hi, hello,hey,” he parrots, trying not to laugh. I can hear the grin in his voice, see the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles.
Be still, my stupid, punishment-loving heart.
“So, what’s up?” he asks.
