“You agreed last night to let me come up with a plan, remember? You said you wanted someone to swoop in and teach you how to get good at dating, like Fred taught Audrey to be the Quality woman. So I found your Fred.”
“But you weren’t supposed to present the plan to me in front of Fred!” I shake my head. “I mean, Will—where he would bodily wrestle me for the friggin’ thing.”
Amelia takes in a happy gulp of air. “He said yes, didn’t he?”
I fold my arms, eyeing the space around me and choosing to let her dangle a little in uncertainty. It’s the best form of torture I can think of at the moment. “The studio turned out nicely. Are you liking it?”
Her studio really is adorable. It’s one room with an attached bathroom. Amelia said she didn’t want anything too fancy, just a quiet space with natural light to work on her music when she’s home. There’s a piano, a few guitars, and a desk with equipment for recording in the corner. But my favorite part of the space is this little cozy lounging area composed of a green velvet couch and a few floor poufs scattered around for extra seating. Above the couch there’s a giant poster of our queen—Audrey Hepburn—standing in a cream-colored dress in front of a wall of pink flowers.
“Yeah, yeah, the studio is great. Tell me what Will said.”
I squint at various parts of the room. “You need more plants in here. I think a fiddle-leaf fig in the corner over there would be nice.”
“Annie…”
“And a succulent on your piano.”
Amelia stands up from the piano bench and launches herself onto the couch with me. She tackles me in a hug. “Don’t be mad at me, Annie! I can’t take your polite chitchat. It’s worse than a cold shoulder.”
I resist her hug, tucking my arms tightly against my sides. Must resist the affection. She hugs even harder. Squeezing the daylights out of me. When I can’t stand it any longer, I blurt, “Fine! I give. Will said yes,” and then I return her hug, because not many people understand this about me, but I love affection.
Amelia squeaks, squeezes one more time, and then jumps up to do a quick happy dance—or maybe victory dance?—and then shoots finger guns at me. “I knew it! I knew he would.”
“Whoa! Careful, there.” I reach forward and pretend to carefully remove her finger guns, turning on the safety and then putting them away under the couch. “You’re dangerous when you’re gloating.”
Laughing and slightly out of breath, she sits back down beside me. “So when do you guys start?”
I shrug. “Not sure yet. He said he’d be in touch.”
“What a Dick Avery.”
I sputter a laugh at her play on words. “Okay, but for real, Will Griffin is not Dick Avery.”
“Why not? Will is kind. He’s outgoing. He’s an expert in his field—all attributes that our tap-dancing pal Mr. Avery shared.”
I chuckle. “You mean he’s an expert at playing the field. There is a difference.”
The mere thought of Will Griffin and Fred Astaire （aka Dick Avery） lined up in comparison is hilarious to me. Will only has to walk into a room and make direct eye contact with a woman for her panties to go up in flames. Fred Astaire looked as if he would really enjoy a nice cup of herbal tea before turning into bed early. To be honest, I’m more suited for someone like Fred Astaire.
Will feels…dangerous.
Amelia shrugs. “You’re not trying to marry Will, so the playing-the-field bit is irrelevant in any other aspect than that it serves your purpose—which is to get comfortable at dating. He’s perfect for this job.” When I don’t answer immediately, she nudges my leg lightly. “He is perfect for this job, Annie.”
“Uh-huh. You keep saying that—and I was inclined to agree—but the more time I have to think about it, I’m not so sure.”
Amelia pulls her feet up on the cushions. “Okay, well let’s talk it out. Tell me your worries.”
Even though Amelia has only been in my life for a little over a year now, I somehow feel closer to her than I do my sisters. I adore Emily and Madison, and have that special sister connection with them, but with Amelia, it’s not just a sisterly connection but that of a close friend too. She views me differently than my sisters do. She values my opinion and seems to understand me in a way that Emily and Madison never have. With them, everything always gets boiled down to one clear-cut outlook: Annie is our sweet baby sister, a little plain and unexciting. It doesn’t matter that I’ll be thirty in a few years; they treat me like I’m ten years old. Which is why I keep a lot about my life to myself. Sometimes I don’t want to hear the let’s-poke-fun-at-sweet-Annie banter they always reply with when I tell them the truth.