Hmm, an older woman called Kiera.
“How much older?”
“A few years. She’s your age if you really must know.”
Well, fuck my life.
“Jenna,” I begin. “Is this Kiera the same Kiera who was a complete arsehole to me in high school?”
Jenna turns ever redder and drops her eyes to the floor. “Um…it’s possible.”
I stare at her with my mouth open in shock.
“Before you get on your high horse, I spoke to her about that. She knows she was a twat.”
I snicker, because it never fails to amuse me when my very American-sounding sister uses British slang.
Jenna catches my snicker and punches me in the shoulder. “I can’t help my accent, you turd!”
“Hey,” I say, holding up my hands in surrender. “I didn’t say a word!”
“You didn’t have to. I’ve been in the US since I was small. Of course my accent is stronger than yours.”
Shaking my head, I push down the urge to keep annoying her.
“Back to the issue, please. Kiera!” The doorbell buzzes, saving Jenna from any further interrogation. “This conversation isn’t over!”
Jenna scoffs and flips me the bird as I push past to answer the door. Sloane stands in the hall, gripping a bouquet of wildflowers so tight her knuckles are white. She looks…incredible. Like herself but dialled up. She’s in a pale blue dress with sleeves capped at the shoulders, and tiny silver hoops in her ears. Her hair is soft and loose, in its perfect beach wave style.
We stare at each other, both speechless.
Jenna breaks the spell. “You two are disgusting,” she calls from my bedroom doorway.
Sloane’s face breaks into a smile, and every drop of awkwardness slips away. She holds out the flowers. “These are for you.”
I take them and step in close, catching her scent: lavender and something woodsy. “I’ve never been given flowers before. Thank you, they’re beautiful. Like you.”
“Oh gag,” Jenna calls, which earns her a glare.
Sloane just laughs, letting her hand graze mine. “Ready?”
I look past her, where the late summer sun is catching dust motes in the stairwell, and I get this euphoric rush in my chest.
“Yeah,” I say, lacing my fingers through hers. “Ready.”
As we leave, I glance back one more time. Jenna is still at the bedroom door, grinning wide and shameless. Even though she’s dating Kiera, I still love the little arsehole and all her sibling support.
Down on the street, Sloane links her arm through mine. We’re walking to the restaurant, which means Sloane will have to come back to mine to pick up her car. Honestly, I’m hoping Sloane will agree to stay over tonight. I just want to hold her.
“So, do you think they’ll have crème brûlée?” she asks.
“I hope so,” I reply. “But if not, I’ll pour some bourbon over a pudding cup and set it on fire when we get back.”
She laughs loudly, which makes me smile like a damn fool. This is exactly how it’s supposed to be. Me and her.
The restaurant is so posh I’m very intimidated. I’ve been to snobby food joints before with my parents. Mom sometimes had to impress a client, and that meant dressing the family up and forcing us to sit at a fancy table, eating food that came in miniature portions. None of those restaurants has a patch on this place, though.
We’re seated at a cosy table by the window. There is low lighting and a dude playing the piano in a tuxedo.
