I wish I wasn’t this way.
My go-to response when things are going exceptionally better than the norm is to ask questions. My brain doesn’t relish in the sunniness of a situation; it pulls back the layers to find the darkness. If something seems too good to be true, it always is.
But as Libby’s voice sing-songs about the way Ted kissed her, I make a concerted attempt at overriding my default reaction. I close my mouth so I don’t suggest she guard her heart or tell her to be careful and, instead, coo like I’m falling in love right along with her.
Because that’s what friends do.
“I’m so happy for you guys,” I say as I shove away from the counter. “That sounds like the perfect night.”
“It was. I’m so happy for us too.”
I can hear her smile. It makes me happy. Not saying that Libby has had a hard life—she definitely had the better brother between my stepdad and her father—but she’s been married for four years, doesn’t have to work, and lives in this gorgeous mansion in an even prettier town.
It’s idyllic, really. She’s got it all together.
And not that I want this exact life, because I don’t. I want a job—a real career, someday. I want to get up in the morning and do something that requires wearing heels, which is random but true. I’d love to have kids, and if I get married, I want it to be a partnership with love and respect. So, while my idea of perfection isn’t exactly what Libby has, I hope to start getting my life put together too.
Even if it took me a lot longer to do.
“I’ll be out of here before you guys get back,” I say, grabbing the bottle of green-lidded cheese from the refrigerator. “My flight leaves next Saturday morning, and you guys get home Sunday. Right?”
“Yes. I hate that I’ll miss you.”
“I know,” I say, putting the cheese down. “But the flight I got was ridiculously cheaper and, besides, I don’t want Ted to come back and have me here and ruin your little re-romance. You’ll come home to a perfectly clean kitchen.”
She laughs. “I don’t need it perfect. Just … perfect.”
“One thing is for sure. This spaghetti is not perfect.”
I lift a scoop of it up in the air. The bottom is a bit dark at first glance. But if I turn it in the light just right, it doesn’t look half bad. I shrug because there’s nothing else I can do and fill a large Tupperware container.
“I’m shocked,” she jokes. “You sounded like you had the whole chef thing under control.”
“I …”
My voice trails off as a doorbell sounds through the house. It’s such a Libby sort of doorbell—very light and melodic. Almost chirpy.
“Do I hear the doorbell?” she asks.
“You hear the doorbell. Expecting anyone?”
“No. Maybe it’s Boone coming to check on you.”
My heart begins to patter at the sound of his name and thought that he might—could possibly, although not likely—be here. To see me.
Ding-dong.
“Shit,” I say, wiping my hands off on an eggshell-blue towel that probably isn’t for wiping hands on. “I … gotta go. I also owe you a decorative towel.”
“Oh, Jaxi.”
“Sorry,” I eek out.
“Don’t worry about the towel now. Just check your face in the mirror before you open the door.” She sucks in a breath. “I’ve seen you cook. And check your teeth!”
“Okay. Check face. Check teeth. Got it,” I say, blowing out a breath. “Bye, friend.”
“Bye, Jaxi.”
I push the red button on the phone before spinning around and heading for the door.
My body is awash with excitement even though it’s likely not Boone at the door. It’s probably a salesman with a brochure in his hand.
I pause at the mirror as instructed. My hair is wild, and my face is a little sweaty. I fix myself up as quickly as I can, say a prayer that if it is Boone, I can manage not to act as ridiculous as yesterday, and then tug the door open.
A zip of energy bolts through my system as my eyes land in a sea of green.
Seven
Boone
Wow.
My lips are parted. The words—some dumb line I prepped on the walk over to Libby’s—are on the tip of my tongue. Nothing comes out, though.
My gaze falls on Jaxi as she stands at the threshold of the door, and the line I’d prepped so carefully fizzles away.
She’s a mess. Dots of liquid and a plethora of crumbs decorate her shirt. There’s a dark stain on the thigh of her right leg, and on the left side of her face near her ear, a glob of red has taken up shop.
Yesterday, Jaxi was calm and collected. Today, she’s a hot mess—emphasis on the hot.
There’s something about her like this—something approachable and a little vulnerable—that appeals to me on a level I feel deep inside my bones.
“Looks like you’ve been busy,” I say, running a hand through my hair and reminding myself to play it cool.
She cracks a grin that makes her eyes sparkle. “What brings you by this fine evening? Did you happen to smell the wonderful aroma of spaghetti with meat sauce that I have bubbling away in the kitchen?”
“Spaghetti? That makes sense.”
She wrinkles her forehead. “So, you smelled it?”
“No.” I point to the spot of red next to her ear. “I was going back and forth between ketchup and hot sauce. But spaghetti makes more sense.”
Her eyes go wide as she places a palm to the side of her head. When she pulls it back, it’s streaked with pureed tomatoes.
“I’m glad you didn’t decide to cook at my house yesterday,” I tease.
Jaxi’s lips twist into a pursed pout. “Keep it up, and I’ll break in on Monday while you’re at work and make a six-course meal.”
“Thanks for the warning. I’ll be sure to lock all of my windows.”
She laughs. The sound drifts through the air and lifts the
