The Nice Guy Next Door (When In Waverly 1)

Millie

It has been four days since the awkward blanket-fort incident, as Lo and I refer to it. We should come up with a shorter name. I allowed myself to get carried away with Jameson. I mean, nothing happened…or at least, not much happened. It was just innocent cuddling. It was enough to send him running for the hills, though.

He hasn’t spoken to me since that all-too-fateful morning. All I get from him now are polite waves from across the yard. I thought I had a real friend here, and now I’ve gone and ruined it. Did he think I was coming on to him? Now I know: ask before you lay your head on someone’s shoulder and hug their arm…their very toned arm.

I tried to talk to Tess yesterday when I was at her house, but she kept getting distracted with baby Riley (completely understandable!), and then she fell asleep in the middle of our conversation. I ended up entertaining her three-year-old, Lily, for a few hours while she and Riley napped.

I now semi-understand why she’s so tired. Lily has so much energy. She never stops moving or talking. She demanded that I participate in all of her games, and she gave me a play by play of every single thing she did.

I fell asleep from exhaustion as soon as I got home yesterday, and I only had the one kid. I can’t imagine doing all of that while holding a baby.

I’m gonna try Hannah next. I’ve been circling the front desk all morning, but Gertrude suspects something’s up and won’t take her beady eyes off me. She has a sixth sense for people not working.

When 11:45 rolls around and I still haven’t had a chance to talk to her, I ask her to go to lunch with me. We go to the diner in town, and it’s packed with every citizen in Waverly. I don’t want to discuss my personal life with a hundred listening ears nearby just waiting for the next tidbit of gossip, but beggars can’t be choosers.

We’re seated at a table right smack dab in the middle of the dining room. Couldn’t the diner gods have at least blessed me with a booth along the wall?! Is that really too much to ask for, Diner Gods?

Hannah groans as she looks at the table next to us. The table is full of middle-aged women with their heads all leaned into the center of the table. They have darty eyes, and they’re speaking in hushed tones. A woman with a face full of caked-on makeup and that hairstyle that says I’d like to speak to the manager (you know the one) looks at me and gasps loudly. All five of the others’ heads turn toward me, and they sit up straight. Suddenly, they’re all very busy drinking their sweet tea and eating their food.

“I’m not cut out for this town,” I tell Hannah as I sit in my hard chair and brush a few crumbs off the table.

“Don’t worry about it. That’s just Shandi and her posse of busybodies. They used to be really cool when they were in high school. Unfortunately for them, the rest of the world has moved on while they have not,” she says loud enough for them to hear her. I applaud her moxie. I hope she doesn’t go missing later, though, because the queen bee looks murderous.

We order our food and make small talk until the gossip squad pays and leaves the diner. After an epic stare-down as the women walk out, I lean in and say, “Okay, I asked you here because I have to talk to someone about—”

“Is it about Jameson avoiding you?” she interrupts me mid-sentence.

“Well, yes. How did you know?” I scrunch my brows and ask.

“Everyone is talking about how y’all haven’t been speaking. Was it a fight?”

“How do people know he’s avoiding me?” I ask. It has only been a few days. In a normal universe, that wouldn’t be long enough for anyone to notice any rift between us. Is he going around talking about me? Oh, if he thinks he’s going to get away with bad-mouthing me for one little cuddle, he’s got another thing coming.

I will get revenge for this. I’ve never been the vengeful type before (because I’ve never had a reason to be), but I’ll come up with something horrible, like filling his truck with packing peanuts or Saran-wrapping it…that’s not exactly villainous. I’ll have to keep thinking about this.

“What is going on in that mind of yours?” Hannah asks in a worried tone. I sit up straight and plaster on my most innocent smile. She only looks more concerned now.

I’ve never been a good liar, and I can’t act to save my life. I never got away with anything as a child because of it. If I did something wrong, Daddy knew in ten seconds flat because it was written all over my face. I eventually just started fessing up before he found any of the evidence. I was an easy child to raise.

“Has Jameson been going around telling people about how I tried to cuddle with him?” I ask. I cover my face with my hands and groan. This is what my life has come to: a town gossiping about my desperate need for hugs. What’s so wrong with laying your head on a man’s shoulder? Paul Anka seemed to like it back in the day.

“What? No…” Hannah says. She bites her lip in between her teeth to keep herself from laughing. “Is that why y’all are avoiding each other? You got a little too touchy feely for the man and scared him away?” She’s full on laughing now, and people are starting to look. I don’t know how to take this.

I should not have to deal with this. I had real friends in Harris before we moved. Friends who would be just as appalled by this situation as I currently am. Friends who would not—okay, they probably would laugh a little. Or a lot. Just not to my face, which isn’t exactly a good thing now that I’m really thinking about it.

Hannah’s not a bad friend, and I guess I can’t blame her for laughing. It is ridiculous that I scared a grown man away with a cuddle—assuming that that is indeed why he’s avoiding me. He hasn’t even given me a chance to explain that I wasn’t trying to come on to him. I still view him as a friend—a really handsome friend who makes it extremely difficult for me to concentrate when he’s around, but that’s beside the point.

My phone rings obnoxiously from my purse. Normally, I’d ignore it for now, but I see that it’s Lo’s school. My mind immediately starts reeling with ten different scenarios of why they’re calling me. She could have fallen down a flight of stairs, choked on a grape at lunch, or she’s failing all of her classes.

I walk out of the diner as fast as my short legs will carry me as I answer the call with a chipper, “Hello.”

“Is this Ms. Parker?” the woman on the other end of the line asks in a severe voice. I don’t like the vibe she’s sending me through the phone. It’s like she’s judging my guardian capabilities without having ever met me.

“Yes, it is,” I answer, already sounding much less upbeat than I did five seconds before.

“This is Mrs. Spears, the principal at Waverly High School. We have an issue here with your sister, Lorraine. You’ll need to come in to discuss the issue as soon as possible,” the dour woman says. I can picture her squinted eyes and pursed lips right now. She and Gertrude would get along very well.

“Is Lo okay?” I ask.