Page 118 of Iris Kelly Doesn't Date

“I think she’s calling you a bisexual disaster, Aunt Iris,” Ruby said.

Stevie choked, hitting her chest with her fist, and Iris popped her hands on her hips.

“Oh, your mother is one to talk,” she said to Ruby. “Let me tell you a little story about a cranky photographer and a little bet that she—”

“Okay, okay,” Claire said, literally pressing her hand to Iris’s mouth. “She knows the story.”

“Clearly not,” Iris said when Claire released her.

Claire just shook her head.

“Isn’t Stevie your fake girlfriend?” Ruby asked.

“Yes,” Iris said, pulling Stevie in close. “Yes, she is.”

Ruby just frowned, those hazel eyes she got from her father, Josh, narrowing in on Stevie. “Still? Even after—”

“Ruby, honey,” Claire said, “text your dad for me, will you? See if he’s still coming to pick you up tomorrow at nine.”

“Hang on,” Iris said, glancing at Stevie before frowning at Ruby. “After what?”

Ruby just shrugged. “Like, you know, all the wooing and—”

“Ruby,” Claire snapped. “Go. Text. Your father.”

Ruby rolled her eyes, then stomped off to the back of the booth, her phone in her hands.

“Teenagers,” Claire said, laughing, but Iris wasn’t looking at Claire.

“What is she talking about?” she asked Stevie. “Wooing?”

Stevie and Claire looked at each other, a quick glance and then away, but it was enough to set Iris on edge.

“Okay, someone better tell me what the fuck is going on right the hell now,” Iris said.

“Iris,” Stevie said. “It’s nothing. I—”

“Ruby doesn’t fucking lie,” she said. “And Claire, goddess bless her, is horrible at lying. Her face turns beet red and she chews her lower lip to shreds”—here she pointed at Claire—“just like that.”

Claire’s teeth released her lip.

“Iris,” Stevie said, taking her hand. “Let’s go talk, okay? It’s my story to tell, not Claire’s.”

Iris’s shoulders released a little, but her breath still felt tight, her jaw locked up and tense. “Fine.”

Stevie led her away from the booths and toward the water. The fair was set up in a park at the edge of town, Bright River rushing along to the east. Stevie kept walking until they reached one of the small docks, the fair’s crowd just a gentle hum behind them. A single lamppost in the grass turned the area golden, but the farther they walked out on the dock, the darker it got. The world was quiet, the stars above a brilliant silver.

“If you fucking say this is romantic, I will hurl myself into this river,” Iris said. She set her purple frog at her feet, then rested her forearms on the wooden railing, eyes going glassy on the water.

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Stevie said, coming to stand next to her.

Iris turned toward her. “Well, you better say something, Stevie.” Her throat tightened, but she swallowed around it. “What was Ruby talking about back there? What is all this? These ridiculous dates. What are we doing? Because it’s not for my book, and it can’t be for you, because you barely touch me.”

“I barely touch you?” Stevie said. “I hold your hand all night. I kiss you when we say goodnight, and—”

“Yeah, a single kiss, how exciting. We haven’t slept together since Stella’s.”

“So, sex equals... what? Proves what?”