He scowls. “No.” Then he leans in, lips at my ear. I instantly erupt in flames. “You say being close is a bad idea, but then you go and fall onto me.”
“Hm?” I spring away, busying myself filling the dishwasher.
“You heard me.” He begins to leave the room.
“Where’re you going?”
“To set up the movie. It’s sacred law, don’t forget.”
While he’s doing that, I take a much-needed breather to slap myself.Get it together!This is a critical period. If I can refrain from swooning all over him, then I don’t see why we both can’t have what we want long-term: a hotel and an animal sanctuary, without stepping on each other’s toes. We’ll likely bicker at times, but a little bickering between equal inheritors is much less damaging than bickering between salty exes forced to live in close proximity to each other for the rest of their lives. This is the mature decision. For once in my life, I am going to look before I leap, and save myself from pain.
I know I’m right in this, but knowing I’m right doesn’t make me any happier about it.
The timer dings while I’m preoccupied with an internal speech that is half pep talk, half threat. “They’re ready!” I shout.
When he doesn’t pop back in, I assume he must be busy choosing a movie and pounce on the opportunity to roll the donuts in the topping myself, which I confess I wanted to do anyway. Once I’m finished, I lay them aside, wash my hands, and set off to scold Wesley for not doing the thing that I’m glad he didn’t do.
He isn’t in the living room. I walk by the television, which I left paused onThe Great British Bake Off, but instead of the charming Noel Fielding gracing my screen I get a horrifying eyeful of Pennywise the clown. “JesusChrist.”
I wheel around, panning the room. “Wesley!”
No response.
I plant my hands on my hips. “I am not watchingIt.” I punch the exit button on my remote as fast as I can, then click onLegally Blonde. Much better.
Wesley jumps out at me from out of nowhere, hands in claws. I scream.
He laughs and laughs and laughs. I hate him. I really, really want to hate him. I am not even close to hating him. “The look on your face!” he howls, doubling over.
“You about finished?” I level him with the most hateful look I can muster. “Where thehelldid you come from?”
He flashes a lopsided grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“Yes.”
“You’re cute when you’re mad. Like that movie with the duck who says the sky is falling? Have you seen that one? That’s what you remind me of, and when you’re mad it’s hilarious.”
How very flattering.
“It’s achicken,” I snap.
Whatever my face is doing is really cracking him up. I am on the fence about finding a stepstool to stand on so that I can climb up there and give him a good dressing-down when he relents. Wesley crosses the room, flattens a palm to the wallpaper, and digs his fingers into it. The edge of a camouflaged doorway gives, swinging out to reveal a black corridor.
I gape. “Where didthatcome from?”
“Secret passageway.”
I’m already hurrying inside. Far behind me, Wesley’s complaining that I changed the movie: “What’d you do that for? I’ve been busy setting up a joke. Now the red balloon won’t make any sense.”
“If I see a red balloon in this house, Wesley Koehler, you’re going to be in big trouble. Ihateclowns.”
“Balloon?” I hear a loud noise that is inarguably the pop of a balloon. “Never seen a balloon in my life.”
The secret passageway leads to the library. I decide to teach Wesley a lesson in karma by shutting the light off and squeezing myself inside a large, deep bookshelf. When he walks by, I reach out and grab his ankle. He shouts, releasing a string of curses he then spends five minutes apologizing for.
I lie on the floor laughing.
“Oh, you’ll be sorry you did that,” he says darkly, offering me a helping hand. “I know all sorts of secret passageways in this house.”
