We get up, and I feed him his wet food on the porch so the smell doesn’t get in my nose while I’m having breakfast. I sit by the window and look out at the back yard. My sister Tina lives back there, in the former garage that my mother converted into a cottage. She was going to rent it out, but Tina parked herself in there, and Tina always gets what she wants.
I crunch my toast and stare at the windows of the cottage. The blinds are closed, which means Luca is staying over.
He’s basically the perfect guy, from looks to personality. I’m really glad he’s in Tina’s life, and I’m truly happy for both of them, but seeing them together has brought back some old feelings. Bad feelings I’m ashamed of.
When we were growing up, I was always in Tina’s shadow. We’re close in age, only eleven months apart. My mother was breastfeeding her when she got pregnant with me by accident.
At first, I did better than Tina. When it was time for me to emerge from the womb, I rolled my tiny body around just like babies are supposed to, according to the baby manual. My mother wanted another C-section, but the doctors said she didn’t need it.
Out I came, a day later, with my pointy head and tilted nose—almost as cute as baby Tina, but not quite.
In school, I was almost as good at Tina in every subject. As teenagers, she did some modeling, and I didn’t.
I decided to do something she’d never tried, and joined the girls’ wrestling team in high school. Tina came to my first match and was fascinated.
That night, we were watching TV with Mom and Tina said she wanted to join the wrestling team. I suggested she try the drama club. Within seconds, she had the coffee table pushed aside, and we were tangling with each other on the area rug, both of us laughing like maniacs.
My mother said, “Teenie, wouldn’t it be nice to let Meenie have something just to herself?”
With my sister distracted, I slammed her down and crushed her face into the floral rug. It felt good.
“It’s okay, Mom,” I said. “Teenie can join wrestling with me. I don’t mind.”
My mother nodded and gave me a knowing look, as if to say, I completely understand your desire to kick your perfect older sister’s ass, and I approve of this adult-supervised method of doing so.
What my mother didn’t know was how much trouble we would get into on trips to other towns for matches. My sister started dating Jonathan not long after we started wrestling, so she was off the dating market, but I got my pick of all her would-be suitors. And wrestlers are hot.
I had a lot of fun, but I’m twenty-seven now, and things with guys my age are changing. When you’re younger, guys are into girls, period. Girls. Any kind.
But now, guys seem more choosey. It’s like there are two types of girls: the marrying kind, and the okay-for-now kind.
I look down at my toast and tap the crumbs onto the plate, fighting down a wave of pathetic sorrow. I’m having breakfast alone right now because I’m not the marrying kind.
Last night, I met two different cute guys, and I struck out with both of them.
I didn’t realize my situation was this bad. When Luca was first chasing after Tina, he and I got along well. I was never after him for myself, of course, but I’d indulged in a fantasy that he might have a brother… perhaps a slightly less perfect, less handsome, less amazing version of himself.
Unfortunately, though, Luca doesn’t have a brother. That’s why the only sweet little kisses I’ll be getting in the morning, for the rest of my days, will be coming from a whiskered companion who licks his own butt.
Fine. I accept my fate.
I clear up the breakfast dishes and check the time. I wonder what Drew, the new guy I drove away from the group, is doing right now. Is he sorting through his ties for one he likes? In my mind, I can see him shaving his perfect, handsome face, then pulling on a crisp, clean dress shirt.
I wonder what kind of job he has, and why he came to our group. Since he’s probably not coming back, I’ll never know.
What can I do? What can I do to stop driving guys away?
My eyes dart over, seemingly with a mind of their own, to the business card I took from Duncan’s antique shop.
I’ll start making amends. That’s what I’ll do.
Tina will be opening the flower shop today, so I’ve got the morning free, and I’ll make amends with Duncan.
It can’t hurt to try to be nice, can it?
Chapter 5
I walk into Sweet Caroline Antiques, where I’m shocked to find Duncan chatting with the actor, Matthew McConnaughey.
Matthew grins and says, “All right, all right!”
When he turns to look me up and down, I realize the guy is not the famous actor, but someone who looks an awful lot like him.
Duncan says, “Thanks, Cooper. I know Charlie said to forget about finding her, but he doesn’t mean it. I’ll tell him the good news tonight.”
“Road trip,” the guy says, grinning.
Duncan gives me a polite nod, not acknowledging that I’m anything more to him than a potential customer.
I walk over to a cabinet full of tea cups and pretend to be interested, while listening in.
Duncan and the guy talk for a few for minutes about some girl they’ve tracked down in Arizona, then the not-Matthew-McConnaughey guy leaves.
I turn around and say, “Private detective?”
Duncan puffs out his chest and runs his hand through his long, sandy brown hair. He looks cuter than I remembered, like someone who should be on a surfboard, not standing behind the counter of a little antiques store.
“Who wants to know?” he answers, his tone light and teasing. “Do you need to hire a detective to search for your manners?”
I keep staring at his face, until I realize what’s different. “No, but there has been a mysterious goatee disappearance.”
Duncan rubs his smooth chin. “I’d been meaning to shave it off anyway. Don’t think I did it on account of you saying my mouth looked like a you-know-what.”
“A lady’s private business.”
He winces. “Regardless, I’m glad you stopped in. I don’t know what I said or did last night that set you off, but I’m the guy, so whatever it was, I’m sure you think it was my fault.”
I walk around some oak tables, getting closer to the counter where Duncan’s standing, but I keep moving past him, as though my primary motivation is shopping.
I run my fingers over some honey-stained oak. “We can split the blame, fifty-fifty.”
“Sure. Let’s try to be friends, since we’re practically neighbors.”