“You are more than welcome to sleep in the chicken coop.”
He hums under his breath. “The couch will do, I suppose. We’ll renegotiate for the bed tomorrow.”
Tomorrow?
Oh, jeez, I think he intends to stay here until the wedding’s over.
“Chickens as pets,” he muses, getting up and wandering over to my cabinets. He starts opening them, poking around. “Is that allowed? You’d think there’d be codes about that. Livestock within city limits, et cetera.”
“My chickens aren’t livestock, they’re family. What are you doing? What are you looking for?”
“I’ll know it when I find it.” He glances at my counter, then does a double take, swiping my small suede notebook from the top of the pile.
I lurch forward. “Give me that!”
“Why? What is it?” He spins so that he can snoop through my notebook, holding it aloft. “Is it a diary?”
“Stop it right now. Give me that or my very sexy boyfriend is going to fight you.”
Trevor exits the bathroom in my baby blue terry-cloth robe, a dark mood, and I suspect, nothing else. I can guess the source of his aggravation: my cheap array of hair and skin products. He’s constantly bragging about the fifty-dollar moisturizer he uses.
“Romina,” he calls, sulking. “Where is that waterproof wall mount shower phone holder I bought you for Christmas? I was going to listen to Sleepytime FM, and the acoustics of leaving my phone on the sink are atrocious.”
I clap a hand over my forehead, a headache beginning to pulsate. My phone rings.
I glare at both of them, swiping across my screen to answer. “Yes?”
“Hey, how arethiiiings.” Zelda’s joy radiates. “Are you going to sleep between them and be a Romina sandwich? Soundscozy.”
“No, thank you for asking,” I respond through clenched teeth. “I don’t need any ice cream.”
Trevor gasps. “I do! I want some! Is that Luna? Tell her I want peanut butter chocolate.”
“This is hilarious.” My sister’s gloating is surely payback for the bumper magnet I slapped onto her camper van the last time I visited:HONK IF YOU LOVE ASS.Also, she evilly enjoys other people’s discomfort. “I would hate to be you!”
“Feeling’s mutual, pal. That ocean air has made you salty.”
“Ocean?” Trevor halts in the act of pulling on a pair of my fuzzy socks. “Is that Zelda? How is she going to get us ice cream?”
“What’s Alex wearing?” she teases. “What areyouwearing?”
“Why?” I ask. “Are you hitting on me?” Alex and Trevor both swing weirded-out looks in my direction. “I’ll call you back.”
“Chrysanthemums and purple roses to nurture a love pegged at first sight,” Alex reads aloud. “Sunflowers to signify you wish for a long relationship with your present significant other. Liatris for when you want to try to make a troubled relationship work. Hm. Strange diary you’ve got here.”
“Trevor, are you going to accept this?” I wheel on him. “You’re taller than Alex, go get my book.”
Trevor, who’s lying in my bed, shows me his hands, gold polka-dot polish drying on his nails. “Babe. Look at me. I can’t do anything, or it’ll smear.”
Alex flips several pages. Clears his throat. “Cyclamen andbutterfly weed help drive away an unwanted admirer. Well, that’s not very nice. Just use your words.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
“You shouldn’t. Ferns encourage your one true love’s secret feelings to come to light. Oooh, sexy. And sneaky. Is that why you’ve got a fern tattoo?”
“No, I—”
“White clover,” he trails on merrily, “will bring your face to the mind of your OOA... Your OOA?”
