“No,” Rosalie barks. “You are not foolish. Believing in love is not?—”
“But all this time, Rose, I believed I could show her and do enough to change Ellington’s mind.” I swallow and peek through my fingers at the ceiling of our apartment. “Am I just a fool who thinks she can change other’s minds?” I say. Is Callum never going to believe? Is he going to take the idea of love not being for him to his grave?
“People can change. I wasn’t sure I’d ever want to date again after Robert broke my heart. But you changed my mind, Fran.” She pulls my hand from my eyes, sitting on the couch next to me.
“I did?”
“You did,” she says earnestly.
“She said my remakes proved nothing. She asked what use they had.” My throat constricts. “Is my theory ridiculous?”
“Of course not!” I love her enthusiasm, but I wish she weren’t scowling. “It’s not a crime to believe in love. Or to seek it out. You’re brave, Fran. I hid away afraid after Robert left, but not you—you just keep trying.”
“But I’ve never had my heart broken like that.” I lift my head, locking eyes with my friend.
“That doesn’t matter.”
“Doesn’t it? Ellington asked if I’d found someone to loveand someone who would love me back. She wanted to know if I even knew what love was.” I let my head fall back to the armrest of this couch.
“Fran, just because you haven’t found your person doesn’t mean Ellington is right. It doesn’t mean you don’t understand love or relationships.”
“But in some ways, she’s right. I don’t know anything firsthand.”
Rosalie scoots herself closer to me, smacking my arm. “Stop it. You’ve witnessed it plenty. That’s how this whole thing got started. Maybe not in your home, but in mine. In the Hunters. You’ve seen that real love exists. And looking for it in creative and proactive ways isn’t pointless, Fran. You have proved that when you want something, you don’t wait for it to fall into your lap. You work for it. That love is possible for anyone willing to work for it. And you’ve proved that Fran Fairchild does not give up on love.”
I don’t think I could if I wanted to—even after that awful C on the top of my paper. “I didn’t start all this for a grade or to change Ellington’s mind.”
“That’s right. Keep going. You’ll find your person. Eventually.” She heaves out a sigh as if she’s just finished a heavy workout. Muttering to herself, she adds, “It may not be the hot, overgrown soccer player you’re spending a whole lot of time with, but you’ll find him.”
“Hey,” I bark, pushing up on my elbows. “What does that mean? When did Callum enter this conversation?”
“I just mean that while yes, I believe in your quest for love—I really do. I don’t doubt it. But to find your person, Fran, they need to be looking for love too.”
Thirty-Six
It’sa good thing I love Rosalie like the sister I never even knew I wanted. Callum will be here soon, and she’s been in the bathroom for the last twenty minutes.
With sisterly feelings stirring my insides, I squeeze inside our one bathroom and slide my head between her raised elbow and the mirror in front of me.
“Why are you curling your hair? I thought you had a meeting with Mr. Rivera for the school fundraiser.” I dart a glance her way. Is this what she’s been doing for the last twenty-five minutes?
“I do.” The apple of Rosalie’s cheeks pinken. “I’m allowed to curl my hair.” Then her tone goes accusatory. “Why are you putting on mascara? I thought you and Callum were watching a movie.”
“We are.”
“I thought it wasn’t a date,” she says. Man, Rose is touchy tonight. “You need mascara for a movie?”
I cinch my brows, my forehead wrinkling with the pressure. “I need mascara because it makes my eyes pop—because despite my brown hair, my eyelashes are blonde and invisible.”
Rosalie sets her hot curling iron on the counter and takes one step back, giving me full rein of the mirror. “And why is he inviting you home with him if he doesn’t like you? That seems like afeelingsmove.”
I thought the same thing, but I was too afraid to say it out loud. Despite that ugly C from Ellington—I couldn’t change her mind—I still have hope that I can sway Callum. That I can make him “forget” his reasoning for not having love in his life. “You think so?”
“Yes, I think,” she grumbles. Rosalie is much too beautiful and wonderful to be so grumbly. This meeting has her in a fit. “Is he ever going to admit that he thinks of you as more than a friend?”
“I’m not sure that he does. At least he doesn’t want to. But?—”
“You’ve been on”—she holds up her finger quotes—“multiple sort-of dates already.” I’m not sure she’s even heard anything I’ve said.
