Shawn gave mea key to his place years ago, but I never use it. A knock on the door means I’m much less likely to walk in on my brother participating in an activity a single man might take part in when living alone. People fall in love with Shawn within minutes of meeting the guy. If he doesn’t want to spend a night—or afternoon before book club—alone, then he doesn’t have to.
So like the conscientious sister I am, I knock on his door.
There’s the sound of pounding feet, and I recall how when we were younger Shawn could never just walk anywhere. The guy sprinted as if he was getting timed. Sometimes he’d run to the destination, then come back to check on me, then race back to wherever we were headed.
I swear his nanny dumped Monster energy drink in his OJ. She was probably taking bets with the other caretakers on how soon until my brother broke the sound barrier.
The door whips open to show a grinning Shawn. “Beth! Hey!”
He slips into the hall and shuts the door behind himself. Normally,he only pops over to open the door, then jogs back the way he came. This is different.
This is suspicious.
“Do you have a woman in there?” I mean, that was the whole reason I knocked.
“What?” he sputters. “No. Of course not. It’s book club night. I’d never hook up with someone on book club night.”
That sets a little warm fire burning in my chest. That Shawn holds this monthly get-together in as high regard as I do.
“Okay, then why are we still in the hallway?” I heft my overnight bag higher on my shoulder. “Do you have something embarrassing in there?” I groan. “Tell me you didn’t get a bird.” Shawn is convinced he wants a parrot. “They live forever. I am not taking care of it when you die.”
“Rude. And no, I didn’t get a bird.” He offers a sneaky smirk. “Yet.”
“Shawn—”
“Okay.” He holds up his hands. “No surprise pets. But there is someone inside. I invited them to book club.”
Excuse me, what?
An accusation pushes at the tip of my tongue, fueled by betrayal. This isourthing. How could he invite someone? Especially without telling me first?
Shawn didn’t even invite Tiffany when they were engaged.
Still, instead of snapping, I take a calming breath.
Even though I have the urge to guilt him about this unplanned addition, I remind myself that bringing one of his friends to book club is small beans compared to the secret I’m about to reveal to him in two months.
“Who?” I grumble, which is the best I can do.
“George.”
“What?” I yelp the word, a tangle of emotions tumbling and twisting inside my chest. “George is here? For book club?”
I glance down at myself, taking in the paint-stained leggings and extra-large, mustard yellow sweatshirt that proclaims I’m a Yellow Pine Middle School kickball champion. I am not a champion, nor have I ever played kickball in a tournament. Marge had extras from the team she coaches, and I never turn down a free sweatshirt.
All this to say, I look ridiculous.
Good. You have no reason to look cute for George Bunsen. None at all.
“He is.” Shawn holds his hands palms up in supplication. “This was a last-minute thing, I swear. I only invited him yesterday.”
“But why?” I’m whining, probably worse than the losers of the middle school kickball championship.
Shawn grimaces. “Today is a tough day for him. I already felt like shit because I forgot the anniversary.”
There’s a tug in the bottom of my stomach as some of my annoyance wears off at the edges.
“Anniversary of what?”
