“Oh no, what?”
“You’re about to lecture me, aren’t you?”
“You don’t think you deserve it? You’re not the only one who can give a good talking-to, buddy. Not really, no,” Bexley echoes. “Why not?”
“Like I said, there was no chemistry.” I try to focus on the conversation, but it’s hard when this is really the best angle to see into Rachel’s backyard. And what is going on there is much more entertaining than my love life.
Rachel has gotten up to help Mrs. Gretchen settle onto the grass. She should not be sitting on the grass. She’s a nonagenarian, possibly involved in events of World War II, or so she claimed the day I moved in. It’s not that I don’t believe her stories about the French resistance, it’s that it’s hard to believe she’s old enough to have been through the war. She’s very spry.
Not spry enough to bend those arthritic legs to sit on the ground.
“She shouldn’t be doing that,” I say under my breath.
“Are you watching TV?” Bexley demands.
“No.”
“Who are you talking to?”
“I’m not—myself. My neighbour is outside sitting on the grass.”
“So?”
“She’s ninety.”
“Mrs. Gretchen?” Bexley’s wail rings through my ear. “Did she fall?”
“She’s sitting with the other neighbour.”
“The one with the dog?” Oh joy, the eagerness is back. “You should go out, make sure Mrs. Gretchen is all right.”
“I’m not doing that.”
“Why not? It would be a very gentleman-like thing to do. Plus, I bet she’s got more of that schnapps.” Bexley had been helping me unpack when Mrs. Gretchen stopped by for the first time, and she hadn’t been much help after the first two glasses went down.
“I don’t need any more of that stuff. It looks like the other neighbour—”
“Dog girl.”
“Her name is Rachel. It looks like she’s having a bit of a gathering in her backyard. There’s a fire.”
“How do—Boen, are you spying on her?”
“Of course not. I’m checking on Mrs. Gretchen.”
“How did you know Mrs. Gretchen is with her?”
“She’s fine. I’m not spying,” I say as, with a last glance, I move away from the window. “I’m not. There was no chemistry with Brooke and there’s nothing you can do about that. Either it’s there or it’s not.” Back to Brooke, if only to get my sister’s mind off Rachel and my stalking-not stalking.
“How do you know unless you try and kiss her?” This is a real question she’s asking, not something out of exasperation. And her next words confirm it. “Like, how do you even know you have chemistry with a person? On The Suitor, they go around kissing to find out if they have chemistry, but is there another way to find out? I’m excited to go on the show, but I’m not really keen on cameras in my face when I’m kissing. How do I know if I look good kissing?”
“Video yourself and find out.”
“Who am I supposed to practice with? Some random dude? Don’t answer,” she says quickly. “I’m not doing that.”
“It would be one way to find out.”
“It’s creepy. I like the idea of meeting Grayson, because he seems like a great guy—”
