“Eight months, huh?” His back is to me. I can only see the curve of his cheek, the outline of his ear. “Why not longer?”
Silently, I mull over his question. “I don’t know. Guys don’t usually stick around for long. Maybe I’m too much? Too loud? Too opinionated? Too emotional? Too demanding?”
Dean scoffs. “Nonsense. You’re just enough. Not too much and not too little.”
Now I’m really looking at him, but it’s dark and I can’t make out his expression. “That was…”What was that?“Surprisingly kind of you.” I regard him warily, wondering where this version of Dean came from.
Maybe he’s so tired he’s delusional?
“Icanbe nice, you know,” he says, somewhat testily.
I hold up my hand, placating. “If you say so.”
A moment passes. He clears his throat, straightening. His eyes flick my way. “I figured maybe it was your brothers scaring men away. Don’t you have three of them? Older brothers?”
“Yeah. They’re quite a bit older—36, 39, and 42 years old now. I’m the baby of the family.”
“The spoiled baby?” His head turns back and forth between me and the street outside.
“More like the neglected one.” I stop and correct myself. “That’s too harsh. I was an ‘oops’ baby. No one was prepared for me, so much younger and a girl to boot. I was a rock thrown into my family’s well-oiled machine. My older brothers were super-athletic. They all ended up going to college on sports scholarships.
“I grew up playing in the grass next to their baseball and soccer fields. Running wild through the stands with the younger siblings of their teammates. Always the tagalong. My brothers were so busy. They didn’t want their annoying little sister around to embarrass them.”
That old sting of rejection tugs at me, but I brush it aside. “It’s better now that we’re all grown, but back then there was one person who wanted to be with me.”
“Gwen,” Dean guesses correctly. The sympathy in his gaze causes my chest to constrict.
“Gwen,” I confirm. “Before her dad died, her family seemed almost perfect. My parents would drop me off at her house so they could drive my brothersto their games. I’d spend all day there. She wanted to know everything about me—my favorite color, favorite food, secret crush. Being with her was like someone finally saw me.” I swallow around a lump in my throat and stare at my hands, folded in my lap.
“That’s why what I did, when I blew it and told Sarah about Caleb, that’s why it was so bad. I betrayed my best friend. I could have ruined her chance at happiness.”
There’s a long silence, where I look everywhere but at him.
“Gwen’s not your only friend, though. I’ve seen you flitting around like a social butterfly. Your phone is always lighting up with texts, emails.” So sharp, his gaze, like he wants to see past all my layers. It makes me feel vulnerable, exposed.
“I have lots of friends, but they like me because I’m entertaining. Because I do zany stuff. Take me to a party, and I’ll get people laughing. Everyone likes happy Jenny. Gwen’s the only one who knows what to do when I’m sad.” I stop, uncertain how to better explain it.
Dean opens his mouth to speak when a car driving by backfires, the sound going off like a gunshot. He flinches.
“You’re so jumpy,” I observe, picking a piece of white fur off my leggings. It’s left over from this morning when I did yoga with goats.
His scowl is back in place. “I don’t like loud noises.”
“That must be why you hate me, because I’m loud.” I say it like a joke, though his contempt has been bothering me. My laughter dies in my throat when he doesn’t join in.
His dark brows quirk downward, like he’s confused by what I just said.
Something occurs to me. “Wait. How do you know all that stuff about me? About my brothers? I’ve never told you.” I gasp. Without thinking, I put my hand on his arm and give it a hard shake.
“Have you been snooping around?” I demand. “Is that how you learned about my family?”
Dean lifts his chin, defensive. “I background check anyone who’s in close contact with Caleb.”
“What? You have a file on me?” I’m practically yelling, caught between anger and disbelief.
He squares his shoulders and says, “I do.”
I sputter.
