Rosalie gives me a side eye that tells me she might kill me later. It’s not unwarranted. That was an incredibly long, detailed story about Paul relocating a hive of bees from inside a used station wagon without harming any of the bees.
Callum stands in the parking lot, a grin on his face. Next to him is tall, red-headed Zev. He said his friend might come. Zev stands inches taller than Cal, and next to him stands a petite red-headed woman. Their babies would be gingers, all the way.
“Wait,he’shere?” Rosalie says, her eyes on the broad shoulders of Callum’s bestie. “What was his name again?”
“That’s Zevandhis date.”
“His date?” She wrinkles her nose, her eyes still on Zev as she mutters under her breath, “This setup is seriously unfair.”
“What do you mean? Callum will be a great date,” I tell her.
“Sure, he will,” Paul agrees. “Besides, you’ll be with us, Rosanne.”
I peer back at him in the rear of the car. “It’s Rosalie,” I say. My bestie literally has the most beautiful name on the planet—how could he forget it?
“Right.” Paul shakes his head, and it’s like I’m watching her name fall right out of his brain once more.
“You’re right, Fran. I could have it much worse,” Rosalie says. She smiles, but it’s wide and false, and her blue eyes dart to Paul robotically before hopping back over to me.
“Much worse.” Paul pats the headrest of Rosalie’s seat and opens his door, ready for the day’s adventure. He’s outside and waiting before either Rosalie or I have opened our doors.
“Fran, this guy?—”
“He’s not perfect.” I lift one shoulder. “Neither am I.”
“I just think?—”
“Rose, second dates, third dates, we both know they are a rare occasion in my world. Let’s just see how this plays out. Besides, I’ve got a plan.” I waggle my brows, and while I expect Rosalie to waggle hers back, she just stares at me.
“Tell me it’s notTitanicagain.”
“Let’s go,” I say, beaming at her. I am ready for this date to begin.
“Fran!” she calls, but I’m out of the car, ready for my first triple date.
I jog up to Paul on the pebbled ground to greet my friend. “Hi, guys,” I say, tugging on the sleeve of my flannel shirt. The sun is bright, but the air is cool.
“Hey, Franny,” Zev says, his broad smile growing as we approach.
Callum doesn’t correct him; he watches me, one of his brows quirking in the air.
I clench my jaw, but the truth is I don’t hate “Franny” like I should, not when a Red Tail is saying it. “Zevvy,” I tease. But these athletes don’t care about silly nicknames.
Callum moves beside me and wraps one arm around my shoulders. “Embrace it,” he whispers. “Believe me, from the guys, it’s a term of endearment.”
I bite my inner cheek. I don’t respond. I’m too busy thinking about his words, about his tone, about his arm draped around me.
“I thought your date’s name was Rose,” the small woman says.
“Oh.” Callum drops his arm from around me. “It is. Rosalie’s my date.” He points to my friend just making it outof the car. She’s throwing a sweatshirt over her head. I’m certain the small breeze has already turned her to ice. Rosalie doesn’t do cold well.
“This is Franny,” Zev tells her.
“Fran,” I say, but I can’t help but smile at Zev’s term of endearment for me. It’s like I’m one of the Red Tails, nickname and all. I hold out a hand in greeting, and we shake.
“I’m Mira.”
“Pretty name,” I tell her.
