“Have some more salad.” I shoved the serving bowl at my niece.
But April wouldn’t let it go, and turned back to me with bright eyes. “Did you pick up someone at Jackson’s last night? That’s where you went, right?”
“Yes. But no . . .” I sighed. “I went to Jackson’s, but I didn’t pick up someone. I . . .”
“Wait.” April snapped her fingers and looked at Caitlin. “You said some guys were fighting over her at Faire? It’s the hot coach, isn’t it? The one that wears a kilt?”
I put down my fork. “Okay, these are Caitlin’s teachers we’re talking about here.” April was pretty permissive in her parenting, but this was bordering on weird. Should Caitlin be here for this conversation?
“He’s not my teacher.” Caitlin shook her head and reached for her glass of milk. “I had Ms. Simmons for gym.”
“See?” April said. “Not her teacher. So spill.”
I sighed. I wasn’t getting out of it. “No. It’s not Mitch. It’s . . . it’s Simon.” My skin buzzed just speaking his name. Damn, I had it bad.
April blinked, her expression blank. “Who?” But Caitlin gasped and dropped her fork.
“Seriously? You’re going out with Mr. G?”
Technically I hadn’t gone out with Simon; a hookup didn’t count as a date. But I didn’t correct Caitlin, because it was close enough.
April peered at me. “Then why don’t you look happier about it? Do you like the guy?”
“I do.” I had a flash of memory of straddling his lap at the kitchen table, sinking into his kiss, and I had to blow out a breath. “I really do.”
“So what’s the problem? When are you seeing him again?” She frowned when she took in my expression. “Oh. Okay. Caitlin, you’re excused.”
“But you said I could hear . . .”
“I lied. I need to talk to your aunt. If you go watch TV with the volume up, I’ll do the dishes, but you better go now before I change my mind.”
That did it. Caitlin was out of her seat faster than I’d ever seen her move. She paused by my chair on her way out. “If you’re still going out with Mr. G when he’s my English teacher, I’ll get a better grade, right? Don’t break up with him and screw up my GPA, okay?”
“Out!” April bellowed, and Cait was gone. She turned to me, her expression serious again. “Was this a onetime thing?”
I groaned. “I don’t know. I’m not . . .” I stabbed at my salad, taking my frustration out on the lettuce. “I’m not good at this kind of thing.”
“What do you mean? It’s not like you’ve never been in a relationship before.”
“Yeah, but look how well that went.” I tossed down my fork. “I met Jake at a frat party when I was nineteen. We were drunk, we . . . you know.” I shrugged. “We were just together after that. He never asked me out; I never accepted.”
“So what’s different now?”
“Nothing. Well, we weren’t drunk, but . . .” I shook my head. “A month ago I hated the guy, and I thought he hated me. This is like a summer romance on steroids. What if he’s done with me once Faire is over?” It was too soon for me to ask him for any promises, and it was certainly too soon for him to offer any. The uncertainty of it all gnawed at the pit of my stomach.
April chewed on her bottom lip. “Love is always a risk, isn’t it? But here’s a question for you: how does he make you feel?”
I thought about that. I thought about Simon and the word “love” and my heart felt buoyant. It must have shown on my face because April nodded.
“There you go,” she said. “Okay, look at it this way. What if someone else came to you with this? What if I came to you with this? What would you tell me to do?”
I didn’t even need to think. “I’d tell you to give it a chance. That this could be the real thing.” I groaned and hid my face in my hands. Why was it so easy when it was someone else’s problem? Why couldn’t I give the same advice to myself?
“Exactly. Dummy. Give the guy a chance. Don’t write him off, don’t decide he’s going to fuck it up before even letting him try. That’s all I ask.”
“Okay.” But so much still seemed uncertain. How should I act when I saw him again? Would we make an announcement at the Saturday meeting? Start making out in the middle of town and see who noticed? Relationships were confusing.
* * *
• • •
Turned out, I didn’t need to do anything.
“So.” Chris had a Cheshire cat grin the moment I walked into the bookstore on Tuesday. “Anything you want to tell me about you and Simon?”
My mouth fell open, while my heart thrilled. Simon and me. There was a Simon and me. “How do you know already?”
She started unpacking her Tupperware containers of pastries she’d made at home on Monday, smile still firmly in place. “Nicole saw Stacey, who told her that she saw Mitch at Jackson’s on Sunday night—”
“Stacey wasn’t at Jackson’s on Sunday. I was there.”
Her smile widened. “You’d already left. Mitch told Stacey you were going over to Simon’s to talk stuff out with him. Then I ran into Simon at the grocery store yesterday, and he looked happier than I’ve ever seen him.” She shrugged. “I put it together myself, and just now you confirmed it.”
I opened my mouth, closed it again. She was right, I had confirmed it. Good thing I’d never wanted to be a spy. I would have been terrible. “Fine. Yes, I went to visit Simon on Sunday night.”
She raised her eyebrows. “And?”
And we banged the hell out of each other all night. I can still feel his lips on my skin, and I want more. I cleared my throat. “And we talked stuff out.” I let my smile fill in the blanks, and Chris definitely got the message.
“I’m glad to hear it. I think he’s been crushing on you for a while. He’s a good person, and so are you. You both deserve to be happy.”
“Thanks.” I flushed at the compliment. “I mean, I don’t know where this is going yet, but . . .” The smile wouldn’t leave my face, though, and was this turning into a slumber party? I fully expected that in a half hour the first customer would come in and we’d be braiding each other’s hair, still talking about boys. “So I take it everyone’ll know by Saturday?” I stowed my bag under the cash register and helped Chris set up the café counter. She’d made cookie bars, brownies, and lemon squares, and our supply of danishes from the local bakery had arrived. Everything was individually wrapped and ready to go. We were fully stocked.