Beg, Borrow, or Steal (When in Rome, #3)(24)

“I’ve never seen you wear them before,” she says, returning to focus as I replace my frames to my face. I see her with 20/20 vision . . . and the question she’s tiptoeing around too.

“Contacts are easier.”

“Nope. What’s the truth?”

I bite my smile. “You’re a relentless pain in the ass.”

“Thank you.”

I draw in a long breath. “Zoe thought I looked dorky in glasses, so I stuck to contacts. It’s really not some big thing. Happy?”

Her face is a study in expression. Open and intrigued and then a steep slope into angry and protective. “No. That answer makes me very unhappy actually. A partner should never make you feel insecure about your glasses. Especially since you look so . . .”

The energy in the room is all off. It’s taut. It’s charged. It’s waiting for something.

“Fine. You look fine in them.” She passes me and heads for the door—mercifully never looking back at my room. I should let her go so we can get back to normal as quickly as possible. Put this upside-down night behind us.

“Emily,” I say, just before she makes it to the front door. “Before you go, I want to give you something.”

I once again close the gap between us—though leaving it wider than before—and pull something out of my pocket. I take her hand in mine and she watches hesitantly as I turn her palm face up and then drop my present inside.

“Ear plugs,” she scoffs.

I smile and step away to open the front door for her. “You’re going to need those, because I’m going to be in here keeping you up every night this summer while I create the best damn house you’ve ever seen.”

Even though a vicious smile curls her lips, I notice her shoulders sag with relief. She’s glad to have the status quo restored too.

“Jackson, I hope you get a really big splinter under your nail bed,” she says before her cowboy boots carry her back home where she no doubt falls asleep to the thought of running me over with her truck.





May 31

Jack (8:45 AM): I found a breakfast casserole outside my door this morning. You wouldn’t know anything about it, would you?

Emily (8:47 AM): I didn’t give you permission to text me.

Emily (8:48 AM): And I have no idea what you’re talking about. What’s a casserole?

Jack (8:49 AM): I saw you running away from the window after dropping it off.

Emily (8:50 AM): That was my twin.

Jack (8:55 AM): Tell her thank you. It was the best casserole I’ve ever eaten in my life.



June 1

Jack (7:04 AM): I take back all my charitable words from yesterday. Did you flip the breaker to my AC last night and then put a bike lock on my fuse box?

Emily (7:06 AM): That was my twin . . . ?

Jack (7:07 AM): Your twin forgot to Sharpie over PROPERTY OF EMILY WALKER from the back of the lock.

Emily (7:10 AM): Hm. Maybe you should have stopped construction last night after I asked nicely the first time.

Jack (7:12 AM): My mistake. I didn’t realize yelling “knock it off” through my window was you asking nicely.

Emily (7:15 AM): You know . . . you sound like someone who is very unhappy with his neighbor. Maybe you should consider moving somewhere else with a neighbor you could enjoy living by.

Jack (7:25 AM): Who said I don’t enjoy living by you?

Jack (7:30 AM): Picture of broken bike lock outside Emily’s front door Jack (7:31 AM): Your move . . .





Chapter Eight


Emily


“Thanks again for helping, Em,” says Annie, as I carry another bucket of flowers to the trailer hitched to the four-wheeler. “I feel bad you’re sacrificing your morning to do this for me—but it’s a huge help.”

And I know she means it. Annie hates taking up any kind of space—especially when she thinks it’s at a cost for anyone else.

“Annie,” I say, turning to face my overalls-clad sister. “Helping you is literally a fun activity for me.” I wish I could say I was joking, but I couldn’t get my boots on fast enough when she called this morning. “And getting to do it on a sunny day at the farm, surrounded by flowers instead of asking twenty second-graders if they heard what I said for the tenth time in an hour? That pretty much makes it a vacation.”

She smiles fully, looking like some sort of royal flower nymph in her magical garden. The woman is stunning and glows kindness. She and Maddie share that quality. They possess a charm that makes you want to either be them or be their best friend. Annie is tender, and Maddie is wild, but they’re two sides of the same coin. But me . . . I don’t think anyone would ever accuse me of being soft.

For instance, a few nights ago when Jack told me Zoe didn’t like him in glasses, I have never felt so unsoft in all my life. How dare she? First, she’s wrong. He looks so sexy in glasses it physically hurts. Second, it’s clear he prefers to wear them. What kind of partner would make someone they love feel insecure over something they need to wear? I know from watching Madison’s experience with glasses that wearing contacts all the time is miserable. And yet one day, he found out Zoe thought he looked dorky in glasses, so he just took them off and put them in a drawer and left them there. Because that’s what he does. He’s so considerate of everyone else’s feelings (except mine) that he just bends over backward for them. And Zoe took advantage of it.