“Everyone,” says Jake like it’s no big deal that my entire giant family of nosy southern loons is listening in on my private conversation about sucking face with a man.
“Hi, sugar!” says Mom in a bright tone. “I wish I’d been there. Your dad couldn’t have picked a worse night to get a migraine. But I heard all about it from Suzy Johnson.” Just to catch you up on how fast word travels around our town, Suzy Johnson is my mom’s hairstylist. “I went in this morning to get my roots touched up and heard everyone talking about how Ryan Henderson was practically resuscitating you on the dance floor! Now, catch me up to speed because, last I heard, he made you madder than a mule chewin’ bumblebees.”
“Which one is Ryan again?” That’s my dad chiming in now.
“He’s the boy from high school that June was always swearing she didn’t like, but we all knew better.”
I lay my phone down on the bed and walk to the kitchen to get a glass of iced tea because I know they don’t really need me for this conversation. I also pop a bag of popcorn before going back to my room and picking up my phone again. “…no, that was Brad. You’re still not thinking of the right one. We hated Brad, but I always thought Ryan was a sweetheart.”
“Okay, guys, I’m going to let you go now!” I say, taking advantage of Mom’s need to breathe.
“WAIT!” everyone shouts in unison on the other end, making me smile.
“What time are you coming over?” Jake asks.
My family gets together every Sunday. During the summertime, we have one long sunup-to-sundown pool party. Family comes and goes as they want, but usually, we all end up staying the whole day. It’s a good time. And during the winter, when it’s too cold to get in the pool, we play games and watch movies.
I know it’s normal to hate your family, but mine is generally unhateable. They are sweet, and accepting, and completely intrusive, but it’s actually one of their most lovable qualities.
But today, I’m tired, and I just sort of feel like being alone. Or…maybe it’s that I don’t feel like being alone around them. All my siblings are married. They all have kids. Most days, I’m fine with my single life. You know, strong, independent woman and all that. But today, my best friend is married and gone, and it just feels too hard to go look at the lives of my family and feel that gaping hole.
“Actually, I didn’t get home until late last night, and I’m exhausted. I think I’ll just see you guys next weekend.”
Everyone protests. My sisters all shout “LAMMMEEE” and “BOOOO,” but Jake is the one to say, “Love ya, June. We’ll see you next Sunday.”
We hang up, and I toss my phone onto my bed again, eyeing the giant pile of laundry mocking me. It knows I’ll never get around to folding it. It knows that I’ll leave it here all day, folding a shirt here or there, and then at bedtime, I’ll dump all these clothes back into the hamper so I can get under the covers. We’ve been doing this dance for a whole week now, darlin’. You’re never gonna fold me. Apparently, my pile of laundry is southern too.
I stand up and meander around the house, munching my popcorn, spritzing water on my potted plants, opening and closing the fridge a few times, hoping a delicious dessert will magically appear one of those times, and then checking my phone eighteen times to see if Ryan has texted me. He hasn’t. And I’m mad at myself for even caring. So what? He wants a date. He’s lengthening his stay in Charleston. He kisses like freaking Casanova, and it’s all I can think about. Like I said, so what?
Ugly truth is, I want to text him. I want to know what he’s up to. What does a man like Ryan do on his days off?
But I can’t. I can’t text him, and I won’t. Because we’re NOT dating. He gets one date just like everyone else. But what if I want more than one date?
I’ve got to get out of my head. Or rather, I’ve got to get Ryan out of my head.
After turning on You’ve Got Mail, I sink back onto my couch, bundle up under my cozy Nick Lachey blanket, and wish that this was actually making me feel better, but it’s not because I’m still staring at my phone, willing it to light up with Ryan’s name.
But then something happens. I don’t want to claim that I’m a sorceress or anything, but I’ve definitely harnessed some sort of mythical powers, because I hear a jingling sound at my front door, and I watch as the lock pops open.
Wait. Is someone breaking into my house?
I bolt upright, ready to grab the big knife that Ryan swears is actually meant for cutting food (but I don’t agree), when the front door opens, and none other than Ryan himself walks through holding two big paper bags of groceries.
I sit, wide-eyed, under my puffy blanket as I watch Ryan step inside, kick off his shoes, and then use his foot to shut the door behind him. “You hungry?” he asks, making me nearly jump out of my skin when his brown eyes cut directly to me like he knew I was sitting here all along.
“Well, hello to you too.”
He smirks, and my stomach somersaults. “I gotta get these in the fridge.” And then he’s gone—off to the kitchen to put groceries in MY fridge.
What is happening?! Did I invite him over and I forgot about it? And I’ve got to remember to move my hide-a-key.
I finally stand up and go into the kitchen. I cross my arms and lean against the counter beside the fridge. “Do you always break and enter people’s houses to store your groceries in their fridges?”
He grins, puts a carton of heavy cream in the fridge, and then leans over to kiss my cheek before going right back to his task. I have decided there is only one explanation for what is happening right now: I got in a car accident on my way home last night, and I died and didn’t know it. This must be heaven. Because Ryan looks too good and smells too good to be earthly.
His calm is making me twitch. “Did you just kiss my cheek?”
He looks at me like he’s questioning my mental stability. He is questioning my mental stability? “Something wrong with kissing you on the cheek?”
“No. Er—yes! I mean, there is after…” I pause, feeling a hot blush claw its way up my neck.
“After what, June Bug?” He’s smiling. He’s such a devil right now.
“You know…after everything that happened yesterday.”
What a busy little bee he is, swarming around my kitchen like he owns it. In fact, like the spot on my neck, I think he’s staked his claim in here. This is his kitchen now. However, to be fair, he’s used it more this past week than I have in the entirety of my living here, so it seems about right to go ahead and give it to him.
“What? The part where I saw you in your bra and panties, or the part where we made out on the dance floor?”
My stomach does a giant dip at his words. Like when you’re in an airplane, and suddenly the plane drops for a second, and you wonder if it’s going to level off again or if this is the end and your plane is going down. That’s what being around Ryan is like for me.
But who am I kidding? This plane is going down.
“Both!” My voice squeaks. “I think we should—RYAN, oh my gosh, can you please stop putting groceries away for one second?!” Okay, yeah, it’s official. I’ve snapped. I gave him one date, and now he’s moving in. It’s too much.
His brows shoot to his hairline, and he crosses the kitchen to put his hands on the side of my arms. “June, take a breath. Everything is okay. I’m just putting away groceries so I can cook us dinner later.”
“LATER?!”
