“Always the charmer, Garrison. Isn’t it like cheating to hang out at a different bar?”
Smirk. “I like to change things up. Nothing illicit about that.”
I glance around in feigned confusion. “Speaking of which, where’s your usual fan club?”
“You Mayberrys might think every single person wants to be in a relationship, but I’ll let you in on a little secret. Sometimes people prefer to be alone. It can be better that way.”
“No shit. Any woman would be better off alone than with you.”
He puts a hand over his heart as if to mime being wounded. But he doesn’t move away. In fact his leg swings a little closer to me. I feel a rush of…something.
Hormones. It’s hormones.
“I’ve found plenty of women who want to spend time with me,” he says. And there’s something about the way he says itthat’s different, like there’s been a shift in the energy between us tonight, although I couldn’t say why. We’ve been at each other’s throats, more or less, for decades.
“Yeah,” I say, trying not to sound breathless. “And I notice none of them stick around too long. You got something strange going on beneath the belt?”
Another smirk, and for a second, I wonder if he’s going to say,You want to see?
And I wonder if I’ll say,Yes, please.
But then he chuckles and says, “None of them stick around because I don’t want them to.” His gaze moves over my shoulder. “Your sister’s looking for you. She seems pissed.”
“That’s just what her face looks like,” I say. Although obviously sheispissed. I’ve been gone for an unreasonable amount of time. I’ll have to pretend I had diarrhea or something to lift the tension.
“Uh-huh. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you, Holly Mayberry.”
The words stab into me, because he said that same thing to me before, years and years ago, before all of the bickering and word stabs.
“I suppose I can hardly prevent it,” I say, pretending not to care. I turn my back to him, something else I’ve gotten good at, and sure enough, Bryn is staring daggers at me.
I give her a peppy wave and head back to the table.
“Get lost?” she asks pointedly.
“Nah, I can never miss an opportunity to needle Cole.”
She gives me a dubious look, like maybe she senses something else—the undercurrent buried beneath piles of shit—but she doesn’t call me on it.
“You were trying to change the subject,” she says, giving me an incisive look as I lower into my chair.
“Yes, obviously,” I say, grabbing a roll and taking an enormous bite. I can’t talk through a full mouth, now can I? It’sdelicious, and I’m actually feeling moderately better by the time I swallow it down. Bryn’s still staring daggers at me though. “I want to enjoy our birthday dinner.”
“So did I.” This time, hurt seeps into her voice. I know how much she wants me to like Matt. I know how much she wants him to be the one, even if I sense the doubts coiled up inside of her, the bone-deep knowledge that wanting a person to be something isn’t enough to make it true. We’ve learned that the hard way, again and again. Our grandmother is a block of ice made human, our mother a narcissist who had five children by three different fathers and then abandoned all of us for Husband Number Four. And our father? Our father is a himbo who’s never remembered our birthday. Admittedly, I talk to him more than I do our mother, but that’s only because I find him vaguely entertaining and he likes the same computer games I do. Bryn hasn’t spoken to him in decades, because he left when we were kids and never bothered to visit.
“I’m sorry, Bryn,” I say. “If you marry Matt, I’ll obviously be right there beside you, rooting for you.”
“You assume I’d ask you to be my maid of honor?” she asks with a slight tilt of her lips.
“Well, I’m going to be standing at the front of the ceremony regardless,” I tease, “so you might as well make it official.”
The tension leaks out, thank God, and we spend the rest of dinner doing what sisters should—gossiping about people we know and speculating on when we can reasonably expect Nana to retire (never).
If my gaze strays to the bar a few times to check whether Cole’s still there, well, who can blame me? Like I said, unnaturally good looking. He certainly doesn’t check out in the personality department. Occasionally, when I look at him, he’s also looking at me, and it’s like an electric shock jolts through my body.
I decide to drink a little more than I should, because hell, it’s my birthday. I can uber home or ask our brother to pick me up. He’d complain about it—probably a lot, grumpy curmudgeon that he is—but he’d definitely come.
Finally, it’s time for dessert.
