Page 16 of All’s Well that Friends Well (Lucky in Love #2)

JULIET

“Well, just think about it.” Aurora’s voice is far too reasonable as we all crowd around the kitchen table, staring at my phone. “Did you do anything today that would get you fired?”

“I don’t know,” I say, searching my mind frantically. “I don’t think so? I was really nice and normal.”

“You wore pink tweed,” India points out.

“They can’t fire me for wearing pink tweed!” I say. Then my head whips toward Aurora and Poppy, my eyes widening. “Can they?”

“No,” Aurora says with a little frown, and Poppy shakes her head. “Just—calm down.”

“I’m trying,” I say, but tears are burning beneath my lids. “I’m trying!” I repeat, more loudly now at the skeptical looks on my sisters’ faces.

“There’s no use panicking over something when you don’t have all the information,” Aurora says, her voice gentle but firm. “Let’s get our shoes on and go over to see what he wants. All right? Come on.”

A good idea—it’s a good idea. I nod absently as my mind spins through the contents of my day at work, still searching for what could have triggered this message. “Okay. Good. Yes.”

“Here,” India says from behind me, because somehow she’s already gone to the shoe rack and grabbed my shoes for me. “Put them on. Come on—put them on.”

I nod, slipping my feet into my white tennis shoes. I clench my jaw as tightly as possible, but it’s no use; my chin is still wobbling.

And I hate it—I hate this response my body has. I cry all the time, about everything, and I can’t seem to stop it. It makes me feel like a child.

I would really love to bake something right now. Chocolate chip cookies, maybe. Or banana bread. Or?—

“Chocolate chip banana bread,” I breathe.

“No,” India says, shaking her head. “No bread. Come on. We’re going to see Luca Slater.” At the look on my face, though, she sighs. “When we get home, if you still want to bake, you can. Okay?”

“Boo,” I say, but I know she’s right. I just need to go over there and figure out what Luca wants. Then I can panic if I feel like it.

What would I do without my people, reminding me how to be a functional human?

Although I doubt Luca meant for it to be a family affair, all four of us pile into my car, Aurora only grudgingly letting me behind the wheel. She thinks I’m a bad driver, which I resent, because I’m great. I failed the test a grand total of two times, and that was almost ten years ago .

Her concern is unfounded. That doesn’t stop her from gripping the overhead handle the whole drive like a drama queen, though.

“Oh, please,” I say when I come to a slightly abrupt stop and her hand flies to that handle again. “It’s not that bad. Not everyone drives three miles an hour like you, but that doesn’t mean we’re bad at it.”

India and Poppy are silent in the back seat, which is how I know they agree with me.

“I just think you’re a little—a little carefree,” Aurora says breathlessly, like she really is terrified to be in the car with me.

I whirl around, keeping the stoplight in my periphery as I look at Poppy and India. “Am I a bad driver?” I demand.

“Not at all,” Poppy says, her voice soothing, but India just shrugs.

“You’re the worst out of all of us,” she says, “but you’re not bad .”

I sniff and face forward again. It’s probably a good thing that we live so close to our parents’ house, because it prevents any further arguments—even though Aurora flings herself out of the car as though her seat is on fire. I roll my eyes and get out like a normal adult.

In the shadow of the home, I want to cower—mostly because I’m worried the man inside is going to fire me—but I don’t let myself shrink.

I straighten up even though my back is still a little achy, and then I march up the front path and to the doorstep, my sisters and Poppy trailing behind me like a row of ducklings.

They don’t usually let me take the lead, but I appreciate their understanding this time.

When I step onto the front porch and then knock on the door, I adjust my features into a passive, pleasant expression.

There’s no need to go into this meeting combatively—not yet, anyway.

So I wait with my hands hanging awkwardly at my sides, letting the spring breeze kiss my skin and tug a few strands of hair in front of my face.

He can’t fire you for wearing pink tweed, I remind myself, because despite my hopefully calm exterior, I’m still sort of freaking out inside. And if it’s a problem, you can let go of your pride long enough to admit your outfit wasn’t the best choice.

I’m still going to wear however much pink I want, and I’m still going to wear cute shoes. I’ll simply need to adjust a bit.

Even though I’m not looking at Poppy and my sisters behind me, I can feel their anxiety as well as I can feel mine; even Aurora is shifting in place, a little restless.

It’s something I never would have known about having sisters if I hadn’t lived it—people I love like they’re extensions of myself.

I know what they’re doing, how they’re moving, even when my eyes aren’t on them.

I can feel it, feel the space between us as it changes and fluctuates.

I know them so well that their still silences and moving silences and anxious silences and calm silences all sound different to me.

Those silences grow even more restless until finally I raise my hand to knock again. Just before my fist makes contact with the door, though, it swings open with a lurch.

“Sorry,” Luca says as he comes into view. His voice is gruff and faintly breathless, a towel draped around his shoulders, his hair wet. He has on a white t-shirt and basketball shorts, but it couldn’t be clearer he’s fresh out of the shower.

And wow. Who knew a towel could be such a great accessory? His blue-green scent is rolling off of him in waves, and I kind of want to just scurry up his body and bury my face in his neck?—

Focus, Juliet, I tell myself sternly. So I clear my throat and then speak. “You texted me and asked me to drop by,” I say.

His dark gaze moves from me to my sisters and Poppy, one eyebrow lifting. “And you brought your whole family.”

“Yes, well,” I say. I make myself straighten up. “I’m concerned you’re about to fire me. I need backup.”

And I swear—I swear —his lips almost twitch. But the next second that expression is gone, and I’m left wondering if I imagined it, because when he speaks again, his face is impassive, his voice gravelly as ever.

“I’m not firing you,” he says. There’s an abrupt pause, and then he goes on, “I need some of the closet space in several of the upstairs rooms, so I cleared a few things out.” He reaches for something out of sight and then pulls out a large, lumpy garbage bag.

“Here,” he says, thrusting it toward me.

I reach for the bag blindly, my mind whirring. I can feel the utter bewilderment on my face, but I don’t try to pretend anything else; I just pry the ties loose and then peek inside the garbage sack.

Some of my clothes, but mostly Aurora’s—old work pants, some button-ups, a couple pairs of khakis?—

And it hits me then, what he’s doing. My head jerks up, but he won’t meet my eyes, and his cheeks are vaguely pink. That could be because he was in the shower, but somehow I don’t think so.

Poppy doesn’t either; after a quick glance inside the bag, she comes to the same conclusion I did, sending me a startled look. I nod slowly while Luca rubs the back of his neck and looks generally awkward. It’s strange to see, because I’m used to him being stern and rude and overbearing.

“We’ll take them off your hands,” I say, and I’m embarrassed to hear my voice scratch the back of my throat.

I’d bet every high heel I own that he somehow heard or saw what I wore today. I lied to Cyrus on the phone earlier; no one was overtly rude to me, but they weren’t warm and welcoming, either, and I think it was because of my outfit.

Why didn’t I think to look in our closets here for better work clothes? I was planning on going to the thrift shop or shopping clearance. I can’t afford new clothes right now. And even though I know India and Aurora would help me in a heartbeat, I don’t want to ask.

A humiliation-tinged gratitude wells up inside me, one I don’t know how to handle.

It’s probably a good thing Luca’s not looking at me, because I can feel my cheeks turning pink.

My eyes burn too, but I blink them forcefully.

I almost get out a Thank you , but for whatever reason, Luca seems insistent on pretending he really does just need the closet space.

He doesn’t want me to think he’s helping me by providing more suitable work attire. I can play along, I guess.

Behind me, however, Aurora and India have not caught on. India is silent, though I can hear her stewing, but Aurora is scoffing and muttering to herself under her breath. I take a step backward and dig my heel forcefully into her toes.

“Ow,” she says irritably, yanking her foot away. “That’s my—” But she breaks off as Poppy turns and places one arm around each of my sisters, pushing rather than leading them back to the car and leaving me alone with Luca.

And I can’t hold it in. “Thank you,” I say; the words burst out of me. “I—thanks. ”

He mumbles something nondescript as his gaze continues to hide from mine, his cheeks turning even pinker.

“You know,” I say, because I can’t help it, “this is really kind of you. You’re being nice to me.”

“No, I’m not,” he says as finally he looks me in the eye. “I’m not doing anything. I just need the space.” His words are more firm now, much more like the version of him I’ve become accustomed to. “That’s it. That’s all. So don’t read anything into it.”

I hum, tilting my head as I look up at him. “If you say so.”

But my embarrassment and gratitude are turning into to something warmer, something less definable. I take a step back and give him a little wave. “Let me know if you need anything else cleared out.”

The tension in his shoulders eases now that I’m once again playing along with his charade. He grunts, gives me a little nod, and then closes the door.

And despite the abrupt end to our conversation, I can’t stop the smile that spreads over my lips.

When I check out the career assessment later that evening before bed, I find that it’s going to take thirty minutes. So I decide to wait until tomorrow, or maybe even until the weekend.

Part of me knows I’m procrastinating, stalling, whatever you want to call it. Which is ridiculous. I want to see what my perfect job should be. I want to find my purpose.

But…I’m nervous, you know? Because that assessment is my hope on the horizon. It’s what I’ve been looking forward to . Being a janitor is only temporary. I’ll find a better job. That’s what I’ve been telling myself.

Once I take that assessment, those hopes will be gone, solidified into a recommendation I might or might not like.

So I make myself busy putting together cute outfits for work, preparing my shoes so they’ll be more comfortable, baking banana bread with chocolate chips—anything I can do to distract myself.

The stuff from Aurora’s closet proves to be very helpful.

We don’t normally have similar styles, but right now I’ll take what I can get, and I enjoy the challenge of making an outfit cuter anyway.

In this case, it means adding pink touches and ruffled blouses and colorful heels.

I have an absurd—read: perfect—amount of jewelry, too, which from here on out will feature heavily in my work wardrobe, as will whatever pink blazers I can still use.

Because I heard the word Barbie being thrown around today, and initially I was hurt. But then I thought more, and…

I don’t actually hate it.

Barbie is amazing. She’s a stylish businesswoman who looks great always, and she does whatever she wants. Barbie doesn’t care what other people think of her. She just goes for it.

So, yeah, I decide. I’m going to keep wearing my pink blazers and high heels and cute jewelry. Call me Barbie, and thank you in advance.