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Thirty-Six

It’s a good thing I love Rosalie like the sister I never even knew I wanted. Callum will be here soon, and she’s been in the bathroom for the last twenty minutes.

With sisterly feelings stirring my insides, I squeeze inside our one bathroom and slide my head between her raised elbow and the mirror in front of me.

“Why are you curling your hair? I thought you had a meeting with Mr. Rivera for the school fundraiser.” I dart a glance her way. Is this what she’s been doing for the last twenty-five minutes?

“I do.” The apple of Rosalie’s cheeks pinken. “I’m allowed to curl my hair.” Then her tone goes accusatory. “Why are you putting on mascara? I thought you and Callum were watching a movie.”

“We are.”

“I thought it wasn’t a date,” she says. Man, Rose is touchy tonight. “You need mascara for a movie?”

I cinch my brows, my forehead wrinkling with the pressure. “I need mascara because it makes my eyes pop— because despite my brown hair, my eyelashes are blonde and invisible.”

Rosalie sets her hot curling iron on the counter and takes one step back, giving me full rein of the mirror. “And why is he inviting you home with him if he doesn’t like you? That seems like a feelings move.”

I thought the same thing, but I was too afraid to say it out loud. Despite that ugly C from Ellington—I couldn’t change her mind—I still have hope that I can sway Callum. That I can make him “forget” his reasoning for not having love in his life. “You think so?”

“Yes, I think,” she grumbles. Rosalie is much too beautiful and wonderful to be so grumbly. This meeting has her in a fit. “Is he ever going to admit that he thinks of you as more than a friend?”

“I’m not sure that he does. At least he doesn’t want to. But?—”

“You’ve been on”—she holds up her finger quotes—“multiple sort-of dates already.” I’m not sure she’s even heard anything I’ve said.

“We have.” We’ve also just hung out—on non-dates. “And getting a man’s perspective on my remakes has been helpful. I’ve learned a lot.”

Rosalie grunts.

“Are you okay, Rose?” I peer at her through the mirror. “You seem a little?—”

She blows out a tired puff of air. “When do you leave for California?”

“The end of the week.” My heart leaps as I think about the upcoming trip. I’m meeting Callum’s family. Something I’ve never done before. It’s thrilling and terrifying—all at once .

Rosalie opens the bathroom drawer and pulls out my tube of plush pink lip gloss. I don’t mind. I haven’t touched it since I switched to red. But Rose doesn’t wear a lot of makeup. Or any makeup besides a little mascara. And I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her in lip gloss.

She spreads the shiny balm over her lips as if she’s been doing it her whole life though. She is a pro. And that pink is kind of amazing on her.

“That looks great on?—”

But she cuts me off, her tone on edge. “I know you like him, Fran. And you know that I will kick his trash if he hurts you.”

I shake my head. “Why? You like Callum too?—”

“Not as much as you do.”

I scoff. “Well, you didn’t kick Doug’s butt. Or Paul’s butt, or Gary’s butt, or Austin’s?—”

“Okay! Stop with the butts!” She tosses the gloss into the sink, facing me, hands on hips. “I didn’t kick their butts because you weren’t completely smitten with them!”

My BFF is officially on edge today.

“Hey—I was completely smitten over that Titanic remake. Do you have any idea what I had to do to get the captain of that boat on board? And Gary?”

Her shoulders fall. “You were smitten with the remake. Not the guy. This is different.”

I cinch my brows. “Rose?—”

Rosalie huffs. “I can see how invested you are—not in just your remake, but him. And Fran, I love that you’ve found someone who makes you think more about the guy and less about the remake, but—” She reaches out, taking my hand in hers.

“You consistently tell me he has no interest in falling in love, all while you are falling fast and hard. That’s a recipe for heartbreak.

And I can’t stand the thought of you getting hurt. ”

But things are changing. Yes, I’m Callum’s luck.

Yes, he’s my male perspective. But I’ve also had the secret design of making Cal believe in love again.

And before that giant C killed my grade-point average, I was certain it was working.

I still want to be. He said I made him forget at times—forget that he’s given up on love.

Isn’t that a good sign? Doesn’t that mean something…

And the truth is, either way, I want to be here with Callum.

I want all the time he’s willing to give me.

“I’ll be fine,” I tell her, then wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her in for a hug. I peer at the two of us in this bathroom mirror. “But are you okay? You look amazing, but you seem a little?—”

“I’m fine! I just have this work thing, and it’s—” She rolls her head and shrugs but never finishes her sentence.

The bell to our apartment rings, giving her the out she needs.

“I have to go. And it sounds like Callum’s here,” she says. “If you like him, and we both know you do, you should tell him. Be transparent, Fran. He needs to know what he’s dealing with.”

Everything I do tells Callum I like him. Don’t actions speak louder than words?

I’m thinking, and when I don’t move, Rosalie walks past me, out the bathroom. I follow her, but she’s too fast. With the mood she’s in, I have no idea how she’ll greet Callum. And I want to keep hanging out with my hot, overgrown soccer player.

“Hey, Rose,” I hear Callum say. My heart leaps with the sound of his voice. Perfectly normal leaping!

“Goodbye, Cal,” she deadpans, giving him the evil eye. Ugh . I know she considers Callum a friend. So, why does she have to look at him like that?

I stand in the middle of the living room, waiting for Callum to enter, wishing I’d brushed my teeth again. But then that’s silly. We’re going to be eating popcorn and hot tamale candies, not making out in the refrigerator. I mean, unless I can figure out how to get us back in that fridge…

“What’s up with her?” he asks. His hair has grown since we first met. He’s not ready for a Zevulun man-bun. But I like the way it curls around his ears.

I blink, realizing I’ve been thinking about hair and not answering Cal’s question. “I’m not really sure.” I peer at the closed door behind him, the one Rosalie just went through. “She was acting strange.”

“Strange, how?”

“Well, she curled her hair. And she’s wearing lip gloss.”

“Date?”

“Work. She’s meeting some guy from school to plan a fundraiser.” I shrug. But Callum laughs. “What?”

Cal walks over to me, standing right in front of me, and my heart decides it’s a dead fish flapping on the dry ground. Sure, it probably needs to be thrown back into the sea, but it happens to like dry land, flapping uncontrollably on the ground without reason to breathe.

Callum laughs. “With all your love for the movies and romance, you aren’t great at spotting clues.”

“Clues? What clues? What do you mean by clues?” Is he giving me a clue right now? If so… I’m missing it.

“Yeah. Clues,” he says. “She likes him.”

“She likes who? Who is she?” He has lost me.

Another low chuckle rumbles from Callum’s throat.

He reaches out, tugging lightly on the ends of my hair.

“Rosalie likes this guy from work. Why else would she get dressed up for him? Why else would she curl her hair? She seemed agitated, probably because she’s unsure about his feelings. She’s nervous.”

I gasp and cover my mouth with my hand. He’s right. He’s right, and I didn’t see it. “I’m so stupid!” I say. “All this time, I sort of thought she was crushing on Zev.”

He laughs. “Not stupid,” he says, and with the words, his hand cups my cheek. “Maybe a little innocent.”

“Are you calling me na?ve?” I say, but I don’t take my face from his hold. No… the dead fish flapping around on the Tesoro beach in my gut likes his hand there.

“I’m calling you idealistic and pure-hearted. And”—he gives me one cringy smile—“maybe a tiny bit inexperienced.”

“You’re so lucky I’m not in the mood to kick your butt.” That the floppy fish inside of me would much rather snuggle than fight.

Callum’s thumb traces once below my left eye, just before he drops his hand to his side. “Movie?”

I sigh. I couldn’t stop it if I tried. “Fine, but Callum,” I say, pressing one hand to his chest and peering seriously into his eyes, “ Pride and Prejudice is one of the best romance stories of all time. You are not allowed to fall asleep during this film.”

“And if I do?”

“I will pinch you.”

“You’re going to pinch me?” he says with a disbelieving laugh.

I give him a serious, pointed stare. I mean business. He should know it. “Hard. Very hard.”

“You wouldn’t—” he starts, which is why I am forced to do what I do next .

Reaching out, I skate my hand down to his stomach—whoa, it’s a nice ride—and seize hold of the tiniest portion of skin. Where is the man’s loose skin? I barely get a piece of him. Still, I pinch what I do snag. Hard .

“Hey!” he yells, pushing his hands down his stomach and dislodging my hold on him. “That hurt.”

“That is your warning pinch.”

Callum’s still rubbing his stomach. “What about the cuckoo?”

“It goes in Rosalie’s room during movie nights. I’ll wrap a blanket around his house.”

He grunts. Callum does not get along with Rosalie’s clock.

“Ready?” I ask.

Mr. Darcy has already proposed, Lizzie has refused, and while Callum is obediently watching, I am distracted.

I blame the floppy fish.

“What other clues am I missing?” I say.

Callum’s head is propped on a pillow, his legs stretched out clear across my living room floor. We had to move the coffee table out of the way and even the couch back for Callum’s long legs. He swivels his gaze from the television screen to me. His brows cinch together.

“Huh—what?” he asks, and I’m proud of the attention he’s been giving Darcy and Lizzie.