My heart trips. Is he about to ask me out? Is this really happening? Do I want it to happen?
Also, what constitutes “single”？ If you ask anyone in the town, they would say I’m dating a dangerous-looking bodyguard. But that’s not real, Annie.
“I am single,” I say and then realize my chin is lifted. I promptly level it.
Brandon smiles. “Well, then, would you be interested in going out sometime? I know we just met, and this could come across as super creepy, so no pressure. Also, I’m on Instagram if you want to look me up to make sure I’m legit.”
I should say yes. Say yes, Annie! He’s ticking all the boxes so far, and if I want to get married, I have to go on a date again. But I don’t want to end up on a date with someone who’s only looking to hook up at the end of the night, because no matter how amazing making out with Will has been lately, I’m realizing I’ll never be the first date hookup kind of person. And maybe that’s okay?
Honestly, this could be perfect. I wanted to pursue both paths （one, being dating, and the other, giving in to self-indulgence） in hopes of figuring out which one brings me the peace I’ve been looking for—and it looks like one of those paths is currently illuminated with a blinking sign above it reading WALK THIS WAY.
I decide to throw out the truth to see if this man will be a waste of my time or not.
“I need to be up front with you, Brandon. I’m not looking for anything casual.”
His smile grows. “Me neither, actually.” Brandon reaches into his back pocket to fish out his wallet. “Here,” he says, and then takes out a very official-looking business card with his veterinary clinic’s logo and information on it. “Do you have a pen?”
I hand him one, and he quickly jots down a number on the back. “This is my cell. Text me if you think you’d like to go out. Or if you just want to talk and get to know each other.”
“Okay, I will. Thank you,” I say taking his card and giving him one more smile before he turns, telling me to have a nice day and he hopes we see each other again.
The second he’s out the door, I drop the card on the counter like it’s a poisonous leaf.
“Well,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck as I stare down at the little rectangular card. “This is unexpected.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Annie
Hank’s is lit on Friday nights. The whole town comes out to line dance and drink and socialize. If you’re not at Hank’s on a Friday night, you’re a certified loser. It’s why even I manage to turn up. （And I enjoy being here, so there’s that.）
I’ve done this enough times to know how to manage it, though. Hank’s is one of my comfort spots. Me and my sisters show up a little earlier than most—somewhere around seven, drink a few beers and catch up on our weeks even though we see each other literally every day and know nearly all of each other’s business at all times. But…I guess I have things they don’t know about right now. Why does that send such a thrill through me?
It suddenly makes me wonder if they have things I don’t know about their lives too.
I glance around the table, assessing my sisters with fresh eyes. Sherlock eyes. What are they hiding? On the outside Emily looks normal. Her blonde hair is parted down the middle, tucked neatly behind her ears, curls she created with her wand this morning are brushed out into soft luscious waves. But her strong features, high cheekbones, and knowing eyes remind you that she could kick your butt in a second. Emily is our fierce protector. Although my grandma raised us, at the end of the day, she still felt like a grandma more than a mother figure. But Emily always feels more like a mom than a sister to me. I’ve never known anyone to keep it all together like she does. And in case anyone needs any more convincing that she’s a fierce queen, Emily has taught second grade for nine years with twenty or more children in class each time. Superhero status.
So what is she hiding? I’ve often wondered why she hasn’t married. It’s not for a lack of men trying, but as far as I know, she’s only ever loved one person. Her high school sweetheart. None of us really know what happened there. It was all very hush-hush. One day he was the love of her life, and the next, he was packing up his truck and leaving Rome for good. I remember Emily spending an entire twenty-four hours crying in her room, and then she wiped her tears and never mentioned him again. Didn’t let us mention him either.
And then there’s Madison. Just look at her. A sprite if I’ve ever seen one. A spunky little brunette with a bouncy shoulder-length haircut, wild brown eyes that are always seeking trouble, and a small adorable nose that is all too boopable. Maddie looks like a sugar cookie, yet she’s wild to her core.