1. He’s my best friend.
2. He knew me in middle school (cringe).
3. I was just cheated on after celebrating my longest relationship.
4. He works offshore.
5. My abandonment, trust, and reinforced commitment issues won’t allow me to date anyone who can’t see me for a whole month at a time.
See? Braxton and I would NEVER work. And I can’t risk trying on the slim hope he may like me as more than a friend because if it crashes and burns like my past experiences, then I lose my best friend. Blame it on the daddy issues. Or lack-of-daddy issues.
I do.
But now I’m in a predicament.
I’m dateless for Mary Anne’s wedding next Saturday in Virginia. The road trip I had planned for Daniel and me was epic if I do say so myself. I hate planning things, but I planned this for us because I was naive and “sure” that he just might have been the one.Stupid, stupid girl.
And it wasn’t just any road trip, but a Hallmark movie-level romantic one.
Mary Anne is—well, was—my second in command at the boutique and is one of my closest friends. She helped me build my brand from the ground up, and I know she would never judge me. But others from this neck of the woods? They always judge. ALWAYS. No matter how many career milestones I reach—like being a total boss babe. It’s nothing compared to the holy union of marriage according to southern women. A woman’s success is tied to marriage. No matter if it’s a healthy and happy one. You got a ring on your finger? Well, honey…you’ve won at this game of life.
Moral of the story: one doesn’t show up alone to a southern wedding.
And I have to go because I am a bridesmaid. A person can’t just bail out of being a bridesmaid.
Which means I have to ask one of my ridiculous exes to accompany me on a romantic getaway to Chesapeake, Virginia. Daniel sure as heck ain’t coming now.
Or…
I can ask my best friend who I’m extremely attracted to on a romantic getaway to a wedding and pray to the God I’m not sure exists that he will say yes.
Braxton? An ex?
The decision is easy.
My fingers fly over my phone as I text Braxton back, letting him know to come over for dinner. I’ll feed him, then coerce him.
I crunch the rest of my lollipop down, then grab the things I need to whip up a pot of spaghetti out of my pantry. After turning on my Dolly Parton record using Grandmama’s turntable, I get to cooking.
TurnsoutIfeltlike making garlic bread and baking homemade cookies to go with our spaghetti.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Lorelei Spence, one of my female best friends, has spent the past thirty minutes on a video call with me while I cooked after I texted to let her know I would be asking Braxton to accompany me to Virginia for the wedding. “Maybeyouneed a getaway byyourselffor a change. Collect yourself. Discover who you are without a man.”
Lorelai and her twin sister, Lucy, came to my rescue a few nights ago after I lost my good graces on Daniel. I shudder, recalling the monster I morphed into. There were a lot of curses, physical objects were thrown, and glass splinters littered his living room floor. The girls came over, calmed me down, and fed me ice cream while we watchedStranger Things. Nothing like a good suspenseful, horror, sci-fi show to get your mind off things.
“It’ll practically be like I’m alone,” I retort, forcing myself back into the present. I’ve got to quit reliving that night. “It’s Braxton.”
“It’s about time she goes for that. I was contemplating it if she didn’t,” Lucy exclaims behind her.
“He’s not a piece of meat. You can’t just refer to him as ‘that’.” Lorelei shoves her sister back. They look identical with curly strawberry blonde hair, soft hazel eyes, and splatters of freckles across their noses and cheeks. But I know that Lorelei has a brown birthmark on her left cheek much like Marilyn Monroe. If she covers it, the two sisters merge into one.
“Ladies, chill,” I interrupt, taking the cookies out of the oven. “I’m not gunning for him. I just got out of a relationship with a two-timing scumbag. And anyways, Brax and I arejust friends.”I feel like I’ve been emphasizing that more than usual lately. As kids, and then youth, Braxton and I were always told by our elders that we would end up marrying. But as we grew older, our relationship grew into a tight bond like a brother and sister would have. Into our twenties, people generally left us alone because either he’d have a girlfriend or I’d have a boyfriend. But then there were rare moments like this one where we were single at the same time and all the romantic feelings and fantasies I’ve had—and often repressed—roared to life.
“Friends-to-lovers is a popular romance trope for a reason.” Lucy winks. The woman practically lives in romance novels when she’s not trying to write her own. “Maybe you’ll live out your own.”
I elevate my voice and speak clearly, enunciating each word. “JUST. FRIENDS. No lovers part.”
“Whatever you say, Hads,” they say at the same time. Good gracious, I hate when they do that. And since when did Lorelai jump to Team Braxton & Hadley? I glare at her.
