Page 7 of All’s Well that Friends Well (Lucky in Love #2)

I did work harder. I always worked hard. I’m cleaning toilets anyway.

“I’ll be there,” I call to his retreating back as I swallow down the complicated tangle of feelings growing in the back of my throat. “Thank you!”

“Wait,” Luca calls, looking back and forth between the old man and me. “Hang on—wait a minute. She can’t—you can’t?—”

“Why don’t you want to work with me?” I say, tilting my head up at him.

His gaze whips back to me. “Because.” He swallows, a bob of his Adam’s apple that shouldn’t be sexy but totally is. “ You—we—” He breaks off, his mouth gaping as he searches for words.

He can’t find them. Interesting.

I decide to push him a little bit, just to see what happens. I step up so that I’m on level ground with him, almost toe-to-toe. His eyes widen as he looks down at me, but he doesn’t move.

“Do you want to date me?” I say. I keep my voice matter-of-fact, casual.

His brow furrows. “What? No, ” he says, spitting the word out. “What on earth would make you think?—”

“Are you sure?” I say. I take the teensiest step closer, and I can smell him now—that same cool, blue-gray ocean scent. “I’m very beautiful.”

His mouth snaps shut, a muscle jumping in his jaw as his eyes narrow. “I need more than beauty from a woman.”

A smile blooms on my face. “So you think I’m beautiful?” I say quickly, before he can retract his words.

But he just scoffs. He folds his arms and leans against the doorframe again, looking me up and down. He pauses before admitting, “Sure. You’re beautiful, Juliet Marigold.” Then his eyes come to rest on my face, lingering there. “But I told you—I need more than that.”

And I have to resist the urge to fan my cheeks, because I can feel them heating under his slow perusal. I make myself shrug instead.

“Then I don’t see what the problem is,” I say. “If you’re not secretly pining for me, what will it hurt to work in the same building? You’ve been unnecessarily combative this whole time. I’d just like to know why.”

“I probably wouldn’t have a problem with you if you’d stop showing up at my house or inviting me places or bringing me brownies,” he says.

Just like I expected: I am the gnat that keeps buzzing around his face.

Still, he doesn’t need to come for my baking.

“Don’t even pretend like my desserts aren’t delicious,” I say. “I was trying to be kind and welcoming.”

“No,” Luca returns evenly. “You like me.” His gaze intensifies on me. “Don’t you?”

A car drives past on the street behind me, and I’m grateful for the sudden burst of noise, because it allows me a microsecond to collect my thoughts and swallow my shock. I clear my throat and straighten up.

“I do.” There’s no reason to deny it. I haven’t been subtle. Still, despite knowing these things, my cheeks heat further—embarrassment and vulnerability and pain.

Luca looks briefly surprised, though; his dark brows shoot up before he smooths his expression once more. “Don’t pretend you’re altruistic when you have an ulterior motive.”

And before I can say anything else, he closes the door in my face.

I’m not a patient person, which means by the time I get into my car—parked a few houses down the street—I’m already calling my sisters. They should both still be at home, since India doesn’t have a shift today and Aurora rarely works on Saturdays.

I will be telling them about my job; I will not be telling them about my exchange with Luca .

When India answers the phone, I don’t bother with any greetings. Instead I say, “Put me on speaker. Are you with Ror?”

There’s a second of silence, maybe because she’s surprised at how I sound—I’m having a hard time containing my news—and then India says, “I’ll go get her. But what’s up? You sound weird.”

“Wait until Aurora is here,” I say. “But hurry!” I inject as much positivity and enthusiasm into my voice as possible, and mentally, I do the same—tell myself that life isn’t always sunshine and roses, and I have to suck it up anyway. There are still things to smile about.

It’s just…I love sunshine. I love roses.

But I also love having a job and not having to leech off my sisters.

“I—okay,” India says quickly, and over the line I hear the faint sound of her feet thudding up the stairs. A few seconds later, she speaks again. “Aurora,” she says, breathless now. “Jules is on the phone.” The sound quality changes as she adds, “Okay, you’re on speaker.”

“Okay, are you ready?” I say. But I guess I’m too impatient to let them respond, because my words burst out of me. “I found a job!”

Two seconds of silence greet me, and then?—

“ What? Where?”

“You did? Where?—”

They’re trying to talk over each other, only garbled fragments coming through to me, and the weight in my chest lightens. I laugh as the giddy relief I’ve been waiting for rushes through my veins.

This right here—this makes it worth it to take an unimpressive job at the workplace of the man I’m harboring a major crush on. Telling my sisters, hearing their excitement, knowing how much they love me and how much I love them.

“I’m headed home and then I’ll tell you everything,” I say as my smile finally rests happily and genuinely on my face. “I’ll be there in five.”

“We’re excited for you,” Aurora says, and I can hear the smile in her voice, too.

“Drive safe!” India adds. “We’ll see you in a few. Oh —and we have to celebrate!” Her voice turns thoughtful. “Do you want Mexican? Chinese?”

An old, familiar anxiety pulses in my gut, trying to expand, but I push it down. “Mexican,” I say, refusing to let my smile waver. “I’ll be there in a minute. Bye!”

And they’re waiting for me in the kitchen by the time I get home, Aurora sitting on the countertop, dressed in her comfy clothes of leggings and a t-shirt. India stands next to her, her fingers drumming restlessly on the counter. She brightens when I enter through the garage, her freckles dancing.

Well. Freckles don’t actually dance. But she smiles, and that sort of makes them look like they’re dancing, you know?

The way someone is just so happy to see you that they light up.

That’s what being sisters with Aurora and India is like.

There’s always someone who smiles when you walk in the room, unless you’ve borrowed their shoes without asking.

Indy is mostly the one who does that.

“Okay,” she says now. “Tell us.”

Aurora nods keenly, her legs swinging. “Where are you working?”

“I’m working at Explore,” I say. “Over on Main. ”

India blinks at me, and a little frown brackets Aurora’s lips.

“That outdoor equipment place?” she says, shooting a look at Indy.

“Yep,” I say. “That’s the one.”

“You don’t—” Aurora breaks off, but India picks up for her.

“You don’t do a lot of outdoors stuff,” she says, more tactfully than Aurora would have. “Will that be okay?”

“Yes,” I say. “Because I will be cleaning toilets and floors. I got hired as a janitor,” I clarify when they both look even more confused.

They barely miss a beat, which is to their credit, because as much as I am not an outdoors person, I am even less a janitorial person.

“ Oh ,” Aurora says with a nod.

“Got it,” Indy says. “That’s so exciting!” She tilts her head, her red ponytail swishing. “What’s the pay like?”

Hmm. Good question. “I didn’t actually ask,” I say, lilting over to the table and sitting down. I’m tired; breaking and entering is a physically taxing activity, and Luca’s words keep running through my brain.

“You didn’t ask?” Aurora says.

“It all happened very fast,” I say with a shrug. “But whatever it is, it has to be more than I’m making right now, doesn’t it?”

Zero dollars. That is how much I’m currently making.

“Good point,” India says. “And—” But she breaks off too, looking over at Aurora. They share a significant glance, and India nudges Ror with her elbow. Aurora frowns at her and gives her a little push with her still-swinging foot .

“ You ask her,” Aurora mutters under her breath. “I don’t?—”

“Guys,” I say with a sigh. I let my head rest on the kitchen table, my blonde hair falling around me. “I’m right here. I can hear you.”

Someone clears their throat—Aurora. “Fine. Yes. We’re wondering how you feel about not teaching ballet anymore.”

It’s a nice little cave I’m hiding in right now, with my forehead on the table and my hair obscuring my vision. The wood is cool against my skin, and I appreciate the steady support.

“I don’t know,” I admit, my voice muffled. That knot in the back of my throat rises again, and when I go on, the words are tremulous. “I can’t actually tell if I’m happy or—or sad.”

“You can be both,” India says. “Bittersweet emotions and whatnot. You’re glad you found work but sad you’re not teaching dance.” She pauses. “You’re still our Dancing Queen, no matter what.”

It’s a sweet thing to say. My theme song has always been ABBA’s “Dancing Queen.” And she’s right about the bittersweet thing too, but my feelings are deeper than that.

Despite being the most emotionally aware of the three of us, I’m not sure how to explain to my sisters.

How do I tell them about the insecurity that’s always festered inside of me?

How do I tell them that there’s something devastatingly disappointing about this move?

I don’t know how to say those things. I don’t know if they’d understand. And as dearly as I love my sisters…I don’t think those are parts of me I want to share. The lies my brain tries to tell me, the shadows that would loom if I left them unchecked .

So I remain silent, my only response a little shrug. Then I take a deep breath and sit back up.

“Mexican?” I say.

And Aurora and India smile. Because when all is said and done, I’m not sure they would know how to ask any more than I would know how to answer.