When I come back, Wren has my phone in her hand, and she’s leaning against the counter, eyes fixed to the screen.
“How’s the hunt for a husband going?” She asks, looking up at me while I stretch my hand out toward her.
My prospects have been dismal, shame and embarrassment colouring my cheeks as I think about her looking through my matches. I wave my fingers in agive it backgesture, but she doesn’t.
“It’s going,” I answer, keeping it as vague as possible. Notthat I wouldn’t indulge Wren, but if I admit how it’s actually going out loud, I’ll get discouraged. And I have to stay optimistic. For Aunt Dahlia.
I reach to grab my phone back, but Wren pushes my hand away and makes for the door that Hudson holds open for us.
“I want to look, I’ve never actually been on the apps. It’s fascinating.” She’s swiping through my matches from what I can tell from where I’m standing.
I roll my eyes and finish locking up the store.
“Ooh, look at this one. He’s cute, Pops. Have you gone out with him?”
Wren flashes the screen toward me and shows me the picture of a beefed-up guy I only matched with because he said he was into horror movies. He mentioned House on the Bloodstained Hill specifically, my favourite.
“Nah,” I say, climbing into the backseat of Hudson’s truck.
Wren and Hudson getting into the front. Ruby, Hudson’s rusty coloured golden retriever, is on the seat next to me, wagging her tail, so I give her a pat on the head and a scratch behind her ear.
“He used some creepy pick-up line when he messaged me. He said, ‘I wish you were my pinky toe, so I could bang you on my coffee table later’.”
“He did not!” Wren exclaims, shrieking and then breaking down into laughter. I catch Hudson’s amusement in his eyes as he glances back at me in the rearview mirror.
“That’s not even the worst one, okay?” I add. “It’s dismal out there. Be grateful you both found each other again.”
Hudson’s arm reaches over the centre console, and he rests his hand on my best friend’s leg. The silver band he now wears on his ring finger glints on the hand that grips the steering wheel. I’m glad they were able to reconcile last summer. I’ve never seen Wren happier than when she’s with Hudson.
“Hey, I’m proud of you,” Wren says. “It’s not easy to put yourself out there. And you’ve never really had an interest in dating before, so I think this is good for you.”
She’s not wrong in the sense that it’s not easy. But it’s not that I’m not interested, it’s that I always struggle to connect with people. I’m awkward, and I like things like horror movies that a lot of guys find off-putting.
“I’ve never had time with the café,” I explain, though I know it’s only sort of true.
Thistle + Thorne keeps me busy. Ever since Aunt Dahlia and I expanded and opened the plant shop on the other side, there’s a never-ending to do list to keep it functioning at a baseline capacity. Putting in food orders, balancing the budget, and handling all the difficult customers. All with a smile on my face.
“What about Ethan? And Jaime?” Wren asks, still swiping through profiles.
She’s swiped right on a couple for me, but we both have wildly different tastes in men, and I cringe every time she does it. They’re all so rugged, when I prefer a guy with more boyish charm.
“They’re great. But they can’t do what I do. Which is keep the place running. And it’s becoming a lot for them, too.”
Jaime is a skilled florist, and she keeps the plantshop operating like a well-oiled machine. But she can only handle so much.
Wren turns in her seat to face me and lifts an eyebrow skeptically. She knows as well as I do that the café can easily turn into an excuse to get out of things I’d rather not do. “I bet if you asked, Ethan would be more than willing to take on more responsibility.”
I consider it for a moment. I’m going to have to ask him, I may not have a choice. I have to find the time—and the energy—to play the field until I can find a husband. The greater good of the café requires it.
“Hey, that guy looks nice,” Hudson chimes in, his gaze flicking down from the road to the phone for a second. Wren has stopped on a guy whose picture is of him holding a puppy. “His dog is cute, too.”
“They literally all have dogs,” Wren says. “That’s how they lure you. It’s probably not even his. Don’t fall for it, Hudson. Pass.”
Hudson puts the truck in park when we pull into Grady’s driveway. The renovated split-level house is decorated with hundreds of colourful lights, and I can already see everyone gathered for Friendsmas in the living room through the large front window.
Wren gets out of the truck before I do, but she pokes her head back in through her open door.
“Oh, also, Jett is in town for the holidays this year,” she says, as if this is something that I need to be updated on.
