Violet raised an eyebrow. “You don’t believe in them… or you don’t want one?”
“Both,” I said quickly.
Fiona snorted. “Oh, that is a lie.”
“It’s not a lie,” I argued. “Relationships are messy. Complicated. People leave. They get bored. They stop communicating, and then suddenly you’re alone reading survival manuals in your room, wondering why everyone else is in love.”
My sisters exchanged a look.
I hated when they did that. It meant they were silently agreeing that I was emotionally underneath them.
“Sienna,” Violet said gently, “you’re not alone.”
“I didn’t mean literally,” I grumbled. “Just… romantically alone.”
Fiona nudged me. “You could fix that.”
“With who?” I scoffed.
They stared at me.
My face flamed. “No. Absolutely not. He is temporary. A seasonal guide. A migratory species. He will be gone by fall. He’s like the monarchs. He’ll flutter away with all his gusto come fall.”
“Maybe,” Violet said. “Maybe not.”
“No. He will. He should.” I shook my head. “I cannot form attachments to things with biceps.”
Fiona sipped her mocha. “Oh, honey. Too late.”
I opened my mouth to argue.
Then it happened.
Violet’s eyes widened.
Fiona gasped.
And I turned.
Carson Reed walked down the sidewalk, visible through the front windows. Traitorous spring snowflakes dusted his hair. His puffer coat hugged shoulders that looked carved from wilderness-grade stone. His breath fogged in the air. His stride was calm, confident, and steady.
My heart tripped, actually tripped, like it had missed a stair.
Violet whispered, “Oh my God.”
Fiona muttered, “He looks like a lumberjack.”
And they both watchedme.
Watched the way my breath caught.
The way my fingers tightened around the cup.
The way my chest lifted, as if recognizing something before my brain did.
I quickly looked away, but it was too late.
My sisters had seen everything.
