She throws a fry at me. “Anyway. We’ve passed it. Caught up plenty about everything else in life. So, talk about him already.”
“Who?”
Annie rolls her eyes as she slurps her milkshake. “Ren, you goober. He told you how he feels about you, didn’t he?”
I gape at her. “What? How did you—”
“I didn’t,” she says, hands raised. “It was just a hunch. His attraction seemed pretty clear.”
“Not to me!”
“Well, I know. As you’ve said yourself, men’s interest is not something you pick up on. From the first time I met him, I swear, just the way he looked at you as you introduced us—swoon. But when he joined us for lunch? Confirmed it.”
“Well, how nice to know that everyone else had it figured out except for me.” I throw my napkin on the table and flop back against the booth. Sometimes the areas in life to which I seem so utterly blind and clueless are honestly humiliating.
“Hey. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it to upset you.” Annie sighs. “Frankie, we both know that even if you did know, you didn’t want to know. You didn’t want to see it. Because you’re hell-bent on spinsterhood.”
“Annabelle. If you weren’t heavy with child, this spinster would be giving your breeches an epic wedgie.”
“Women didn’t wear breeches back then, Francesca.”
The bell dings as the diner’s door opens, making me casually glance over my shoulder.
The floor drops out from underneath me. Ren walks in. With a woman.
“Kill me now.” I sink into the booth, feeling a cold sweat break out across my skin.
“What?” Annie perks up, like a little baby bird peering out from the nest. “What?”
“Jesus, Annie,” I hiss. “I’m trying to hide, not draw attention to us.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh, well, hello, handsome. Oof, there is something about him. Gingers don’t even normally do it for me, but your man is—”
“He’s not my man.” I groan. I can’t believe Ren is here. With a tall, willowy woman who has gorgeous dark red hair and wide green eyes.
Why would he be here with a woman when we just talked eight hours ago about trying to be together? There has to be a rational explanation, but hell if I can think of one. It’s too much for my brain.
Pulling his ball cap lower, Ren sets his hand on the young woman’s back and gently guides her in front of him while they’re led by the hostess to be seated. His eyes dance across the space as he notices people looking at him, talking to themselves. I turn around and dive deeper into the booth.
“Who’s that with him?” Annie asks.
“I don’t know.” I have no idea what to make of what I’m seeing, except that Ren’s standing side by a side with a woman who’s as striking as he is and who most likely doesn’t have a mountain of personal issues.
Unlike me. The fries and milkshake curdle in my stomach. This is what jealousy feels like. I hate it.
Annie sighs. “You’re being ridiculous, hiding like that. It’s pointless. He’s going to see you. It’s not like this is a big diner.”
“Whyyy,” I whine. “Why didn’t we go to In-N-Out?”
“Because Betty’s Diner makes the best fries. There was never a question of going anywhere else.”
I groan as I rub my forehead. “My shit luck.”
“Stop being such a Moaning Myrtle. Oh, I think he just saw me.” Annie glances down at me and smiles, her cheeks pink. “Okay. I’m playing it cool. It’s just hottie-pants Ren—”
“Hottie-pants Ren?”
She shushes me. “I’d sit up if I were you. You’re going to look like a weirdo, slumped over in the booth when he comes over and says hi.”
I’m just straightening when I see Ren walking my way, icy eyes sparkling from beneath the shadow of his baseball cap.
Ren. Ball cap. Beard.
Guh.
Someone in a nearby booth lifts their phone, and he deftly switches sides so the woman he’s with is shielded from the shameless oglers.
Who is she?
“I’m okay,” I mutter under my breath. “I’m okay.”
“Just breathe, Frankie,” Annie says quietly.
“Frankie.” Ren smiles down at me, then glances over to Annie. “Hey, Annie. How are you?”
Annie smiles up at him, turns bright pink, and bats her eyelashes. “Um, yes.”
I roll my eyes. “Hey, Ren.”
Ren turns slightly, wrapping his arm around the woman’s back, setting his hand on her shoulder.
Bile crawls up my throat. Painful, sharp, stabs of jealousy. What is going on?
“Zigs, this is Frankie and her friend, Annie.”
The woman extends her hand first to Annie, who’s closer, next, to me, bringing her features close enough to inspect. Of course. Startlingly young. Tall. Milky skin, vivid green eyes, rich red hair that’s so long, it’s almost to her hips. Her clothes don’t fit her well—baggy sweatpants and an oversized, stained sweatshirt. Still, there’s something familiar and appealing to me about her appearance.
“Wow,” she says, eyes wide. “I’m finally meeting Frankie. Ren talks about you constantly.”
My belly flip-flops, and I can’t help but grin. Ren turns bright red and grimaces. She notices and stares at him.
“What?” Genuine confusion laces her voice as she glances from him to me. “You do.”
“Yes,” he says on a sigh. “You’re right.”
Pink stains her cheeks as she glances at the floor. “Sorry.”
“You’re good, Zigs. It’s okay,” he tells her quietly.
Something about her embarrassment, that moment of realizing her slip, reverberates with familiarity. I’ve done it so many times—said what everyone else is thinking but which is apparently catastrophic for adults to admit. I’ll never get it and try as I might to learn the pattern of what’s said and what’s not, I can’t. Meaning, sometimes I fuck up. I’ve been in her shoes.
There’s something familiar, too, about the wide-open curiosity in her eyes when we shook hands, her concerted effort to observe the niceties of an introduction but the eagerness to return to the sanctity of her own body and thoughts.
It all clicks into place. This is—
“You’re his sister,” I say in shock. “You’re—
“Yes, this is Ziggy,” Ren says quickly, locking eyes with me. “My little sister.”
Something passes between us. He’s trying to tell me something with his eyes but I’m the world’s worst candidate for that. So, to play it safe, I keep my mouth shut and gather my thoughts for a moment.
I smile up at her, feeling an odd kinship with this young woman who, even after just a few moments of knowing her, I recognize so much of myself in. This has to be the sister he told me about. The one who’s on the spectrum, too.
“Well, then,” I say to her. “My turn to say Ren talks about you lots, too. And it’s nice to finally put a face to the name.”
She blinks up at me, then away, on a reluctant smile.
Suddenly someone from a nearby booth wanders our way, hovering right near Ren. I see Ren’s open expression shutter, his polite smile take over as he turns, shielding Ziggy behind his body.