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“Yes, well, she knows what she’s doing with that. The girl’s obsessed with bees and honey harvesting.” I fold my arms, trying to steer the conversation away from how nice she truly is. “And for the record, it wasn’t a ‘date,’ Mom. It was business, plain and simple.”
“Oh? My, that’s too bad. Junie said you two looked cute together.”
I shake my head ferociously.
“It’sJuniewe’re talking about. She lives for gossip and matchmaking. Do you remember that girl three months ago she tried introducing me to?”
“I do. She gave up after you turned her down three times for a date. I think you scared the poor thing away,” Mom says soothingly. Like that changes the hard fact that my scheming sister-in-law, roughly ten years my junior, thinks I need her help setting me up with women.
Bah.
“That’s not the point, Mom. I don’t need Junie’s help, or anyone’s. I can handle my love life just fine, thank you. And for the last time, Winnie isnotpart of it.”
“Ah, Winnie, yes, that’s her name.” Mom snaps her fingers. “I couldn’t remember.”
“You don’t need to,” I bite off. “There’s nothing going on.”
But Mom just smiles back like the happy mind-reading elf she is until I want to groan and hide my face.
Fucking hell… is it that obvious?
Am I that honey drunk, hung up on a woman who’s every kind of wrong?
The ever-widening smile on Mom’s face tells me that’s a big fatyes.
I fight the urge to start punching the wall.
11
BEE-DAZZLED (WINNIE)
There are few things better in life than a homemade meatball sub.
This one has everything. Meatballs, onions, savory red sauce, and a nice dose of gooey cheese. I’m in seventh heaven before I’ve taken a single bite when the phone rings.
The sandwich goes everywhere as I make a grab for it.
It’s so embarrassing how desperate I am for Archer’s attention. Apparently, I’ll move with sandwich-destroying speed.
A human travesty.
Especially when I spent way too long finding the perfect recipe, cooking the meatballs and sauce from scratch, and assembling the whole thing. Now, half of my precious meatballs are on the floor with the other half scattered across the table.
Oh, plus one on my lap.
Fantastic.
The name on the screen isn’t even Archer’s. Disappointment stabs me in the gut until I process the name.
Lyssie, my bestie from Springfield. The disappointment fades into a mix of nerves and cautious excitement as I swipe to answer.
“Hey, girl.”
“Wynne Abigail Emberly, holy shit! Do you know what you’ve done?” Lyssie hisses. Guess it’s serious, then—she would never use my full name otherwise.
“Fled my wedding? Yep, I was there, Lyssie.”
“On the dayof.”