The thing about lying to myself wasthat I had been doing it for so long that I hardly noticed anymore.
And I’d been lying to myself a lotthis week, so it was almost impossible to divide the lies from the truth atthis point.
I hadn’t seen Killian since theMorning Market when I’d rejected his date request. I’d written him maybe threehundred texts, but deleted all of them before I accidentally pressed send. I’dalso shown up to work way earlier than necessary in case I caught a glimpse ofhim, but he’d always been in his kitchen already. And unlike the weeks prior,he didn’t leave it.
Last night, I heard his motorcycle pullaway fromLilou, but I’d been plating to-go boxes inthe safety of my food truck. He hadn’t stopped by. And he hadn’t sent anyone tospy on me as far as I could tell.
There were no notes or texts tellingme what I needed to change.
Or add.
Or cussing me out for using salt.
And how pathetic was I? I’d donenothing but complain about the man all summer, and now he hadn’t talked to mefor three days, and I was seriously reconsidering my life decisions.
Even the ones I made post-Derrek.
“Are you sure you don’t mind if Itake off?” Vann’s question pulled me out of my spiraling thoughts.
I looked down at the steak I’d beenmutilating. Oops.
“No, it’s fine. People will wait.And if they don’t, their loss.”
He lightly punched my shoulder.“That’s the spirit.”
Vann had waited for a lull in thecrowd before broaching the subject. We’d been sporadically busy tonight. Thebursts were big, but then the lulls were long and slow. It was a weird night.
“So, this is the second date?” Ipropped my hip against the counter and gave my brother my full attention.
“Second,” he confirmed. “She’s nice.You’d like her.”
“Who cares if I like her? Do youlike her?”
He nodded, his eyes remaining bored.“Yeah, she’s nice.”
“You already said that.” My brother.Good grief.
He barely noticed. “Did I?”
“I don’t know why you do this toyourself.”
He jingled the keys in the pocket ofhis navy blue shorts. This was Vann dressed for a date—J. Crew shorts, crispwhite, short-sleeved button up shirt, leather sandals. He looked like a preppyskater. If there was such a thing. “Do what to myself?”
“Date nice girls. You don’t likethem.”
He gave me a look. “Of course I likenice girls.”
“No, you don’t.”
He laughed like I was a lunatic. “Youthink I should datemeangirls?”
“I think you should date a girl thatmakes you feel something other thannice.”
He raised an eyebrow, not takinganything I said seriously. “Now you’re a dating guru?”
“What? You couldn’t tell from mysuper successful relationship and happily ever after kind of life?”
He stared at me for a minute,watching me, reading me. “I don’t know, sis. I think all your wisdom comes fromthe bad experience variety.”
