“Perfect,” he says, stepping back to admire his handiwork.
“Totally.” I laugh, tugging at the edges that barely reach past my ribs. “It almost covers my torso.”
He plops onto the other couch beside Henry, the leather creaking, and picks up the remote. “Okay. What movie are we watching?”
“Something with explosions,” Henry says immediately.
“Christmas movie.” Dad's still in full holiday mode three days after Christmas.
The three of us start volleying titles back and forth, each suggestion more ridiculous than the last. My shoulders finally drop from their position near my ears. The knot in my stomach loosens. It’s the first time since being home that I'm really relaxed. It’s taken five days, but the loop that Oliver threw me for seems to finally be coming to an end.
Really, so what if he’s on Pine Island? I’ll probably hardly ever see him, and I have plenty of other things to worry about. My practice. My health. My carefully constructed life.
The front door opens before we can settle on a movie, bringing a blast of December air racing through the house.
“Helllloooo,” Mom calls, her voice carrying that particular brightness that means she’s up to something.
Footsteps echo through the hallway—two sets, one quick and light, the other more measured. They appear in the doorway, cheeks painted pink from the cold, snow still melting in their hair.
“Watcha doing?” Jemma asks, already eyeing my spot on the couch like she's planning her attack.
“About to watch a movie.” I pull the baby blanket tighter around me, deciding that maybe it's not so embarrassing after all.
“Cool.” She sits on the end of my couch, and I have to draw my feet back quickly before she plants herself on them. The couch dips under her weight. “Guess who we saw at the farmer's market?”
“Who?” I don’t really care. I didn’t stay close with anyone I grew up with, and I only make a point of seeing my family when I come home.
“Billy.” Her face brightens like she's delivering the best news ever.
“Billy?” The name means nothing for a moment.
“From high school.” Mom digs in her tote bag, the canvas rustling. “Oh, you had such a huge crush on him, Devin.”
The memory slams into me. Billy Reeves. Baseball player. That crooked smile. The way he used to lean against lockers like he was posing for a magazine cover.
“Oh. That Billy. Neat.”
“Neat?” Mom laughs and pulls out a white pastry bag, grease already spotting the paper. “They were out of chocolate croissants but I got you almond.”
“I'll live.” Henry eagerly opens the bag, paper crackling. “Thank you.”
“He married Amanda Sheffield.” Jemma kicks her feet up on the footrest, her boots leaving tiny wet marks. “Remember, they were dating in high school?”
Now that I know who we’re talking about, I do remember—and I was jealous as hell. Amanda with her perfect blonde ponytail and her spot on the cheerleading squad. Billy with his letterman jacket.
“They got divorced last year.” My mom gives me a pointed look, eyebrows raised just enough to signal incoming interference.
A long silence fills the room. Even the Christmas tree lights seem to blink more slowly.
“O-Kay,” I finally answer, drawing out the word. And she’s getting at… what?
“He's single,” Mom adds, as if that wasn't clear from the divorce announcement.
“Good for him?”
She gives me an exasperated look, the one that used to precede lectures about homework. “We arranged a date for the two of you tomorrow night. Dinner downtown at The Iron Horse.”
My jaw drops. The baby blanket slides as I bolt upright. “You did what? You guys had no right to do that.”
