You ever meet a small dog that doesn’t know it’s small? That’s her. Personality of a Doberman in the body of a Yorkie.
Gracie, however, is built more like me. Softer, fluffier, a lot taller than Amelia’s five feet. Her auburn hair is never frizzy like mine, no. As a hairstylist herself, she has figured out the secrets of the universe and her waves are always straight out of the ’Gram, whereas half the time mine look like I’ve been sponsored by static electricity. She is absolutely pulling off the maxi dress she’s wearing today, too, and I tell her so.
Ronnie’s got one arm dangling over her shoulder, a longneck hanging loosely from his fingers, permanent sunglass tan on his cherubic face. There’s nothing angelic about the guy, he’s just got a baby face.
And of course, there’s Weston, beneath Amelia, practically glowing golden in his khaki cargo pants and plain white tee, the closest thing the Heights has to a Greek god.
Although, now we might have a new contender for a Roman god in town…
No! We arenotthinking about Wilder today.
Even the sound of his name in my head strikes a nerve. That’s why I break out in a chill, it’s because I can’t stand the guy.
It’s not because of his strong nose, the slash through his eyebrow, those hewn features, the endless expanse of ink along his skin or those thick, firm thighs.
Definitelynot.
Gross.
So gross I might be getting dizzy and lightheaded at the thought.
“It’s so good to see your face,” Gracie croons, petting that face with the backs of her fingers.
She might already be a drink or few in, but I don’t mind her slurred affections.
Reaching out with one arm, I pinch her cute little face between my fingers and squeeze her cheeks together until her mouth pops open and then I nuzzle my nose against hers briefly. “Good to see yours, too, babe.”
“I never see you anymore!” Gracie bemoans, wrapping an arm around my waist as we walk the length of the yard, leaving the crowd behind.
She’s not wrong. The Lexi who worked four shifts at the grocery store every week and did whatever she wanted outside of there is long gone.
That Lexi has been replaced by this version of me who is trying out a new style. Stressy messy. It’s where, for the first time in your life, you finally have a dream, you have no clue how to pull it off, but you put everything you have into it anyway, cross your fingers and hope for the best as you run full steam ahead, frizzy hair trailing behind your frazzled, gorgeous ass as you accept that working six and seven days a week is the new norm.
“Yeah, babe, I know.” My arm thumps over her shoulders, and I hold her as we walk.
We catch up as we wander the grassy lot and inspect the garden around the far perimeter. They have a sickeningly beautiful display of wildflowers that borders the woods, and my sister doesnothingto this garden. It’s actually not fair.
My garden is better, don’t get me wrong, but I have to work my ass off to keep it looking the way it does. This just feels like she’s God’s favorite.
Gracie fills me in on Ronnie, the latest gossip from his job at the plant, and all the best tea she gets served at the town’s only salon where she cuts hair. I probably get half my daily steps in as we stroll the edge of the enormous yard, almost a perfect rectangle, before we head back to the direction we came from.
“Stop avoiding the topic,” Gracie says, voice soft and blissful with just the hint of a buzz.
“What topic?”
Is innocence something I can ever pull off? Probably not. But I shoot for unaware and hope it passes.
“The diner, silly.” The word is drawn out and it’s endearing from her. “Are you surviving? Ready for the opening? When can I come in and try this famous New York food?” Gracie leans in close, giggling into my shoulder. “More importantly, when can my eyes come get a taste of all that man meat everyone is talking about?”
I mimic barfing into the grass and stand to face her, just out of earshot of the table. “Not you too.” Arms crossing beneath my chest, I stare her down.
“Every time I see him down the street, I think my knees give out. He looks like a gladiator.”
My best friend gives arawrlike she’s a horny tiger, or maybe an emo kid on Myspace, and I don’t even try to hold back my eye roll.
“Okay, babe. Why don’t you just use your claws on that guy you married, and we’ll just leave mychefout of the equation.”
Gracie’s green eyes float over to Ronnie and sass works its way through her features as she watches him chat with the Grady brothers.
