Cooper grabs his wallet from the counter and heads for the back door.
“Coop, wait.” I dart after him, catching him in the mudroom.
“What’s up?”
I don’t know how long Cooper and I will have alone before the rest of the house starts waking up, so I get right to the point.
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Do what? Get donuts?” he asks, seeming genuinely confused.
“Getmarried,” I hiss. “In a week.”
He still looks a little baffled, but offers me an easy smile. “It’s nine days. And it’s going to be great.”
I reach out and place a hand on his arm. “Cooper, I saw your face the other night when Mom sprang it on you.”
His jaw flexes. “I was just surprised, that’s all.”
“You’re getting dragged along. Mom just wants to put on a show—the cake, the photos. And Cara—”
He pulls his arm free, eyes flashing. “Can you just relax, Nikki? God. You are so wound up; you’re worse than Mom.”
Wow, rude. “But what if Cara is using you?” The words are sharper than I meant, but I can’t reel them back.
Cooper lets out a short, incredulous laugh. “Do you hear yourself? You really think she’s hatching some evil plot?”
“You don’t know these kinds of people, Coop. I do.” I’ve seen the girls who orbit the edges of reality shows, desperate for an invite, for a hashtag, for their fifteen minutes of fame. “Doesn’t it seem a little convenient she just happened to meet you—of all people—in a bar?”
“It was fate,” Cooper mumbles. “That’s what Cara says. You can’t help who you fall in love with.”
Of course she does.I stop myself from rolling my eyes. “I’m only trying to protect you, Cooper.”
His gaze sharpens, cutting right through me. “Me? Or yourself?”
I freeze, heat crawling up the back of my neck. “What—no—I’m fine,” I say, even though that isexactlywhat I’m trying to do. And with good reason. But I want to protect my brother from potential damage too.
He studies me for a second, and then his expression softens. “Good.”
And with that, he turns and leaves.
As soon as he’s gone, I head back to the kitchen and run steaming hot water over my coffee mug. I happen to know that when someone uses too much hot water in the kitchen sink, it really messes with the water pressure in the blue bathroom upstairs.
She can try to take my brother, but she can’t take all the hot water.
When I finally shut off the faucet and turn around, I gasp and practically drop the mug. Nate’s standing there, leaning against the counter like he’s lived here all his life. He’s got that easy morning look—damp hair, scruffy jaw, T-shirt clinging in ways that should be illegal before noon.
I, meanwhile, am still in an old cheerleading shirt and tiny sleep shorts I’ve owned since high school. My cheeks grow warm. I’ve paraded onstage in front of hundreds of people in nothing but a bathing suit, but those hundreds of people weren’t Nate, and I wasn’t wearing an outfit that looked like it shrank in the wash.
He smiles, and my mind flashes back, unhelpfully, to the feel of his lips on mine in the lake two nights ago.
I open my mouth to say good morning, but there’s a clatter to my left. Nate’s on his feet beside Mom before I register that something is wrong. The empty bowl of biscuit dough rocks back and forth on the floor beside the oven, and Mom is hanging onto the kitchencounter as if she can’t stand on her own. He doesn’t touch her, but his hands are out, ready to support her if she stumbles again. “Are you okay, Mrs. Bennet?”
She doesn’t immediately straighten. “Just haven’t eaten enough today.” She takes another breath before she lets go of the counter and waves Nate away. “Thank you, Nate. I’ll be fine after a biscuit.”
She takes a seat at the table and rubs her temple, leaving a trail of flour across her forehead.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask.
