This Spells Love(3)
“Perfect, the more the merrier. Bring your sister too.”
I cover the microphone with my palm and turn back to face Kierst. “What are you up to tonight?”
She shrugs. “Watching The Bachelor so I can tell you who got kicked off, since you’re a weirdo.”
It’s true. I can’t watch that show without knowing who gets a rose. One of my many endearing quirks.
“Come to Aunt Livi’s after the kiddos are in bed. She’s gonna cure me.”
She doesn’t agree but instead opens her doughnut box for the third time, then snaps it shut and clutches her stomach. “Fine. I’ll come. But if she suggests naked chanting again, I’m leaving.”
I wave her off and return my attention to my aunt. “Need me to pick up anything?”
There is a short pause before she speaks. “Actually, yes. If you get a chance. We will need coarse salt, two Scotch bonnet peppers, and four triple-A batteries.”
“Sounds good,” I say, unsure how afraid I should be of this evening’s plans.
I hang up the phone and realize that we are walking not back to my condo but to Kiersten’s white minivan parked on a side street. She clicks her key fob, and the back door automatically slides open. She tosses her doughnut box onto a Cheerio-covered car seat and then reaches for the passenger door.
“Want a ride home?”
I shake my head. “I’m gonna walk. I won’t get a Peloton workout in before Aunt Livi’s. I have a six o’clock with some company in Shanghai that wants me to buy their revolutionary new dandruff shampoo. I’m dreading it already.”
“Anytime you want to trade jobs, say the word. Although I recommend you sit through one of Riley’s softball games first. Or a PTA meeting. Or what feels like monthly dentist appointments, as all three of my children seem to have inherited Trent’s weak teeth. But today is not about my clusterfuck.” She holds out her arms, and I let her envelop me in one last hug. She squeezes me tightly before pulling back and cupping my face with her hands.
“I’m glad you’re coming tonight,” I tell her. “I think a night with you, Aunt Livi, and Dax is exactly what I need.”
She walks around to the driver’s side, climbs in, and, as she’s fastening her seatbelt, hits the button to roll down the passenger window. “You know what they say, Gems, breakups are hard.” She winks. “But you know what else is hard?”
I shake my head.
“Dax’s dick.”
With that, she pulls out into the road. I can hear her laughing all the way to the four-way stop.
Chapter 2
Margaritas are not meant for Monday nights.
There’s a reason why that old country song is famous. Tequila does indeed have the tendency to make your clothes fall off, or your lips say things they shouldn’t, or, in my case, a combo of the two.
But I considered myself lucky that Aunt Livi’s perfect cure for my aching heart turned out to be just her infamous margarita mix. Well, maybe I won’t be so lucky tomorrow when I face the almost inevitable hangover that will hit me in the morning, but it could have been a lot worse. The peppers and salt were for the pot of chili she plans on serving for her Tuesday night book club. I have yet to learn the purpose of the batteries. And frankly, I’m too afraid of the answer to ask.
“I think that’s the door.” Kiersten lifts her head from the well-loved velvet fainting couch across from me, just enough to see over her margarita glass sitting on the coffee table between us.
I strain my ears to hear anything other than the Jimmy Buffett album Songs You Know by Heart blasting through Aunt Livi’s ancient eighties stereo.
Sure enough, there’s a soft tap, tap, tap coming from the apartment door. I swing my feet to the floor and decide, since I’m already sitting up, to reach for the coffee table and empty my glass of the remaining sloppy green liquid. The world spins a little as I stand, but I quickly right myself, giddiness flooding my stomach as I run to greet my best friend.
“Daxon McGuire, nice of you to show up!” I shout as I fling the door open to find him leaning on the doorframe, his non-leaning hand curled into a fist, ready to knock again.
His hair is wet from the rain, which curls the ends and turns its normal chestnut color a darker brown. He holds out his arms, and I immediately fold into the little nook under his chin. His henley is damp as he pulls me to his chest. But as his arms wrap around me, I feel this sense of comfort. Of familiarity. I breathe in his scent, Irish Spring soap and the faintest hint of something spicy.
“You smell good,” I tell him.
He pulls away, and the loss of support makes me teeter a little. But his hands cup my shoulders, steadying me.
“You smell like you got the party started without me.” His face cracks into a wide smile, and it makes me note the stubble on his cheeks. Dax always has stubble. I accuse him, almost daily, of being afraid of the razor. However, tonight it looks a little longer. As if he’s let it go an extra day. My fingers find his cheek as if to confirm what my brain is thinking: that his face is not its usual scratchy texture.
“You a little drunk there, Gems?”
I become acutely aware that my face-touching is not normal for us—and possibly creepy. But when his palm covers mine and holds it against his cheek, I forget why this isn’t something we do.