Her gaze clouded before she nodded and picked up the carton of ice cream. She scooped up some and pushed the spoon between my lips. This time, I couldn’t hold back my groan.
Slowly, smugly, she smiled. “I’ll be waiting.”
Twelve
“Hey Siri, what’s the weather in Turnbull?” I called from my closet.
The British voice of my Siri chirped out that it would be unseasonably warm. Never knew what you’d get in April. Layers were safest.
Should I wear something that included easy access? I snapped hangers from one end of my closet to the other. Skirt? Cute jeans and a top?
Ugh.
Why was I overthinking this whole thing?
Because it was Rory and everything seemed precariously pinned on don’t have too much fun, don’t think too much, and are we dating? Is this just another extension of our fling?
Should I pack condoms? Be very millennial and have one in my back pocket just in case?
Ugh.
Ugh.
Ugh.
I flicked a denim skirt off a hanger. It had a patch of cherries on the back pocket with a bit of rockabilly flavor. I added a sparkly pink top with a small skulls print. I didn’t get to wear my own style too often because I was almost always working.
Since we were going to an orchard, I went with matching cherry socks that peeked out of my battered Doc Martens. I wasn’t sure if we were going to be coming back late.
Instead of overthinking everything, I rolled up a pair of stretchy jeans and stuffed them into the bottom of my purse. There, all bases covered.
My phone chirped with a reminder alarm. It was almost time for him to get here for our not-a-date-date.
Picking me up like a boyfriend would.
Stop.
It was stupid to think about him like that at all. It was just a fun day.
What? Like the bed-banging fun we’d had on his last visit?
Okay, I really sucked at this easy breezy hookup stuff. It seemed so different than when I did it in college. This felt like a date.
I put on makeup and did my damn hair, for fuck’s sake. It was a damn date, no matter what Rory wanted to label it.
And he was going to show me off to his friends.
I stared at myself in the mirror behind my door. “Calm the fuck down, Beck.” I pulled a hairtie off my doorknob and snapped it on my wrist, spritzed on my perfume, and grabbed my purse and phone.
“Aug!”
My brother peeked his head around the corner at the end of the hall. “Yo.”
“I’m not sure when I’ll be home. I’m going out to the orchard with a friend.”
“A friend?” He crossed his arms as he leaned on the kitchen island. “The same friend we talked about earlier?”
I rolled my eyes. “Dad, my how you’ve grown younger.”