“Right. Right. So obviously you remember agreeing to let me sell your organs for profit.”
“I’d give you a kidney if you asked.” I shrug. “But I feel like giving you the money instead would be less messy.”
“Less messy, sure, but far less fun. Though I don’t know how much your liver would get me on the Black Market these days.”
I train my gaze on the water cup in front of me, not able to meet her stare again. I shouldn’t have let my emotions get the better of me last night, but when Richard went after me on the pre-game show, I lost it and the temptation to stop feeling anything for a while grew too strong to overcome. “I’m sorry I drank too much last night. How can I make it up to you?”
“I was thinking some waffles at the diner, and the use of your giant car for fair errands would do the trick.”
“Wow.” I chuckle, taking another sip of water. “You had that one ready, huh?”
“Didn’t sleep much last night.” She raises one of her shoulders in a shrug. The strap from the lace camisole falls, and I’m too tired not to stare.
Pink dusts her cheeks. “Right! Your shirt. If Gus asks, you slept in the guest room. I tried to get you to lie down in there, but you kept saying you couldn’t be alone—so, here you are.”
“Here I am.” I nod into the empty remnants of my glass. Her soft feet patter across the hardwood as she exits the room.
And I’m left sitting here, staring at her pillow and blanket lying in a huddled mess in the window.
Between Aulie’s sleeping position, my hangover, and the black hole in my memory, I should feel like total shit—and I do mostly—but there’s a warmth slowly growing in my chest. Waking up to Aulie—fuck, I could do that every damn day.
* * *
“How canyou listen to this garbage? I’m not even hungover, and this music is giving me a headache,” Aulie groans, reaching for the volume knob and turning my driving playlist down as we barrel south on Route 16 to Portsmouth.
“What do you have against Blink-182?”
“It’s chaos. It sounds like he’s being castrated, and they asked him to sing through the procedure.”
A sudden burst of laughter escapes me in surprise. I’ve never heard Aulie be that negative about…well, anything. “Put on whatever you want, your highness,” I say, tossing her my phone.
“Oh, thank heavens.” Aulie purses her lips and browses my Spotify. I don’t know why she’s bothering. There’s zero percent chance she’s choosing something other than oldies music.
Without fail, a harmony of voices I recognize as the Beach Boys kick in behind a snare drum.
“Much better,” Aulie says. Her head falls back on the rest, and she closes her eyes, a serene smile plastered on her face.
“What’s your obsession with oldies, anyway?” I ask.
Her shoulders rise in a shrug as the sun softly flickers over her features with every passing, shedding maple. “There’s something cozy about the music. Oldies were always on in the house, and they make up so many of my favorite rom-com soundtracks. When I hear them now, I smile and think, this is it, a happily ever after is about to happen. Like hearing Stevie Wonder sing “Signed, Sealed, Delivered I’m Yours” and knowing Joe Fox is about to take care of Kathleen Kelly—which is the single greatest scene in rom-com history if you ask me. Love a good caretaking scene.”
“I’ll take your word for it. I’ve never seen it.”
“Considering you’re like the least romantic human ever, I’m not surprised.”
“Ouch.” I play off the insult, rubbing my palm over my chest.
“It’s okay. You’re pretty and good at other things, I’m sure.” She hums.
“Thanks?” I try to tell myself to focus on the part when Aulie said I was pretty and not on the fact that burying my feelings for her the past few years has ensured there will never be a future with us. How could there be when she thinks I’m incapable of being romantic and compares me to the likes of George Wickham?
She yawns beside me, and another pang of guilt pricks my chest. There’s no way she got any sleep in the window seat last night.
“Why don’t you try to nap? It should be another half hour before we’re at the antique store.”
She cracks an eye open. “We just left Chawton Falls. It should be a good hour.”
“Sweetheart, we both know I drive like I skate.”
