“Yeah. White with feathers. White with moon dust.”
“What the hell is moon dust? You know what? I don’t care. Fuck you.”
“Fuckyou.”
“I said it first.”
“I said it second.”
“Ahem.” Gigi clears her throat.
We both glance toward her.
And my stomach drops. Because this is my twin sister, which means I’m familiar with every single facial expression she possesses, every glint in her eye, and right now…
“You’re hooking up,” she accuses.
Silence crashes over the dining room. Blake gets the panicky look of a deer that ran in the middle of the road and is seconds from smashing through a windshield.
Then, in the worst impression of a truth teller, she says, “No, we’re not.”
“Holy shit.” Gigi heaves a long, arduous sigh. “Oh man, you two are screwed. How long has this been going on? The whole summer? Or did it start recently?”
“Neither, because nothing is going on,” Blake says stubbornly. When I remain silent, she implores me with her eyes. “Tell her it’s not happening.”
Gigi’s lips twitch. “Yes,twin, tell me it’s not happening.”
I grit my teeth. “Are you gonna keep this to yourself, Stan?”
“Wyatt!” Blake says, looking betrayed. “Tell her it’s not true.”
I sigh. “Don’t worry, freckles. It’s between me and the twin.”
My sister takes an alarming amount of time to consider my question. But then she grins, and I realize she’s messing with me. “Relax. I won’t say a word to anyone but my husband.”
Blake’s eyes fill with panic again.
“Relax,” Gigi assures her. “Ryder doesn’t speak to anybody. Literally.”
I snort, because she’s right. My brother-in-law is not Mr. Chatty.
Accepting her fate, Blake searches Gigi’s face. “And you’re…cool with this?”
“I mean, depends on whatthisis. Summer fling, I can get behind.” My sister gives me a warning look. “Unless it’s more?”
“It’s a summer fling,” Blake answers immediately, and although that’s the rule we laid out, the conviction in her voice bothers me for some reason.
Still, I nod in agreement. “We’re just having fun till the end of the summer.” When Gigi’s skeptical gaze shifts between us, I roll my eyes at her. “Don’t make more of it than it is.”
When I scrape back my chair, Gigi frowns. “Where are you going?”
“Need a smoke.”
“Thought you quit,” she says in disapproval.
I ignore that and say, “Be right back.”
With casual strides, I head outside, but when my sister finds me on the dock ten minutes later, I’m already on my third cigarette.
