I stare. “Why would he do that?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe he thought red roses were a nice platonic gesture. Or that you’d developed a sudden interest in herbology. Hard to say.”
I narrow my eyes. It’s classic Ellenor misdirection. She always talks nonsense when she’s covering her tracks. She doesn’t know I’ve figured out who her mystery boyfriend is.
I cross my arms. “Why’d he give the roses toyou, then?”
Another shrug. “Because he didn’t know how to hand them to you in front of Willoughby without it being weird?”
“Did he actually say the roses were for me?”
“Well, no. But comeon, Lily—they obviously weren’t for me.”
“Are you sure about that?”
She hesitates. Not the quick, dismissive pause I expect, but a longer one—eyes flicking away, mouth parting as if she’s replaying the moment, weighing what to say.
Hoping.
The silence stretches. Long enough that when she finally looks up andsays, “They’re for you. One hundred percent,” it sounds rehearsed, as though she doesn’t believe her own words.
“Right. Thanks for the heads-up,” I mutter, turning away and leaving her to ogle the Brandon-lookalike detective.
She’s clearly just stirring the pot out of boredom. Or in denial of her feelings for him. Or some other batshit-crazy logic that fuels my sister’s mind.
Brandon buying me roses makes zero sense. Not after he rejected me and made it clear he wanted to keep things professional.
If he’d meant the flowers for me, he wouldn’t have given them to Ellenor. That must be why he looked so taken aback when he saw me in the kitchen. I thought it was the shock of seeing Willoughby, but perhaps he’d been hoping to give the flowers to Ellenor privately.
He wanted to spare my feelings.
Bitterness rises. That’s why they’ve kept their relationship from me this long.
My head spins as I head upstairs for my guitar. It’s absurd, but a tiny part of me—stupid and hopeful—wants to believe her. I know she doesn’t mean to toy with my emotions, that she’s just trying to keep whoever she’s dating a secret, but it’s a little cruel.
Or it would be, if she knew how I feel about Brandon, or how hard I’m trying to shut those feelings down.
At least he didn’t lie to me at the Rose Gardens. Better to know the truth.
I let out a long sigh and sling the soft case over my shoulder. I shouldn’t be cross with Ellenor. She lies for a living. And a new relationship is a big step for her.
Besides, her behaviour says more about her own fears than mine.
I head for the café before my thoughts can circle back to the roses…and to the man I wish had given them tome.
***
When I arrive, Willoughby invites me upstairs to his flat above the shop.
“The café has a trivia night on,” he explains, “but we can practice up here.”
This is our last chance to do a proper run-through. I don’t have highhopes of squeezing in much practice tomorrow before our evening gig.
How on earth did Ellenor and I think we could fit in packing and cleaning between the BBQ and my performance? I regret going along with her crazy optimism.
It’s my first time seeing his place, and I almost laugh when I see inside.
Willoughby’s flat is pure beach-town cliché. Whitewashed timber, driftwood furniture, rattan lampshades, and a pristine surfboard yet to see action. A massive framed photo dominates the dining area: Jack clutching Dustin’s twelve-string guitar on a lit stage, grinning like he’s just been handed a torch. Dustin Willoughby memorabilia is everywhere, right down to a life-size cutout of the man himself propped by the dining table as if he lives here too.
