Page 22 of The Spite Date (Small Town Sisterhood #1)

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED SHOULD FEEL BETTER, SHOULDN’T IT?

Bea

The next morning, I’m sitting sideways at the little nook in Daphne’s kitchen where we regularly have coffee and tea together, frowning at my computer that’s resting on my pajama-clad knees, as I scroll my social feeds.

Everyone in town has an opinion about the opening of JC Fig.

It’s three posts about Simon and me for every one post about the actual restaurant opening. And of the posts about us, over half of them mention him breaking down the restroom door—while holding a bottle of champagne—to rescue me when the doorknob broke.

Which the firefighters confirmed.

The doorknob was broken. There’s no way I could’ve gotten out on my own, and there’s no way I could’ve broken the doorknob, or if I did, it was because it was so old that it was bound to break no matter what.

And now I’m vindicated.

Mission accomplished.

With dozens and dozens of pictures of Simon carrying me out of JC Fig floating around local social media to boot.

Several of them with the Camilles gawking awkwardly in the background.

I should be thrilled.

Instead, Simon’s rambly comments about not liking me because I used him are rolling over in my head.

“I was going to come in here and high-five you, but you don’t look like it’s a high-five morning,” Daphne says.

I scroll and read another post, and I frown harder. “It was…an unexpected evening.”

“I didn’t rig the door to break and lock you inside. For the record. I wouldn’t do that.”

“She did try to order seventy cheese fondues to go when she stole my credit card though,” a new voice says.

“A thousand dollars is like less than a penny to you.”

I lift my head and blink at Daphne’s older sister, then feel a real smile bloom on my face for the first time since Simon passed out on my burger bus chef’s table last night. “Hey, Margot. I didn’t know you were here. Sorry for taking your usual room.”

She’s taller than Daphne by a couple inches, a little more slender, with blue eyes and hair that indistinct shade right between light brown and blond.

Her pajama shorts are adorned with cartoon mice, which is the last thing I ever expected the first time I saw Daph’s uber-elegant, strait-laced, CEO-track sister.

She reaches into a cabinet for a coffee mug and smiles back at me. “No problem. Good excuse to make Daphne clear off her bed so we could have a slumber party.”

“A snoring party is more like it.” Daphne grabs the electric teakettle and fills it with water. “You need to see a doctor to get that addressed. Or maybe—I know this is gonna sound crazy, but hear me out—maybe you should sleep well enough during the week that you don’t crash so hard every weekend.”

Margot casually flips her off, and I smile bigger.

“Could you all shut up?” Hudson mutters from the couch in the next room. “Some of us need fourteen hours of sleep every night.”

“Like you’re not partying your heart out and sleeping no more than five hours a night at college,” Daphne calls.

“Yeah. Duh. That’s why I need sleep in the summer.”

“Ryker has a spare bedroom,” I remind my brother.

“So you go live with him.”

Not a chance.

He wakes all of his guests up by five-thirty to go check on his goats and chickens.

“No Bea, no Hudson,” Daphne says. “You’re only here because I love your sister.”

He grunts, and the couch squeaks, and then all is silent again in the living room.

Margot digs into the tea drawer that Daphne keeps stocked for her, and that I’ve been taking advantage of while I’m here.

“Paris tea? What’s this?” she murmurs.

“It’s a new level of delicious,” I tell her. “You should try it.”

Daph hits the start button on the coffeepot, then on the electric teakettle, and sounds of multiple appliances boiling water fill the air. She reaches into the fridge for a pizza box and drops it on the table, then slides into the booth across from me.

“Are you seeing Simon again today?”

I snort. “No. I’m working the sports association carnival this afternoon.” It’s an annual fundraiser for youth sports clubs in Athena’s Rest. I’m taking the burger bus and donating proceeds, even if things are tight and I can’t quite afford it yet.

“Simon stocked her bag with tissues and eye drops and butterscotch candies,” Daphne whispers loudly to Margot, as if that has any relevance to the sports association carnival. “How cute is that?”

“Why did he have any business putting things in her bag?”

“He bought her a new one to match her dress.” Daph looks at me again. “I know you made him dinner in the bus last night. I saw you. But I didn’t see him leave.”

“He was so completely toasted that he fell asleep at the table and his security guy had to carry him out to the limo to take him home.”

“So you’re taking him a hangover cure?”

I make a face. “No. He was fun, but—no.”

“He’s fucking hilarious,” Hudson calls. “I watched a bunch of interview videos.”

“Go back to sleep. Nobody asked you,” I call back.

“I’ve met him once or twice, but not enough to get a feel for him, so I asked around my circles,” Margot says. “The most dirt anyone has is that his parents are insufferable. Otherwise, everyone thinks he’s great. Even ex-girlfriends.”

“That’s a red flag,” Daph says.

Margot pulls a face at her. “It is not.”

“He probably paid them to only say good things about him.”

“He barely had enough money to help pay for his kids’ clothes and food until In the Weeds hit big.”

“Ooh, did you pay someone to go through his financials?”

“No, Daphne, it’s straight-up logic. His parents have more or less disowned him, and he was working at restaurants between acting gigs.”

They both look at me as if I’ll be the tiebreaker in their debate, and I don’t cover the wince that I’m wincing fast enough.

“What’s with the face?” Daphne asks me.

“I didn’t make a face.”

Margot gives me her don’t bullshit me CEO face. “You made a face.”

“I know you’re not judging him for being disowned and broke,” Daphne says.

I set my laptop on the table and straighten. “Of course not, but since when are you on his side?”

“I’m not on his side, but I am disowned and relatively broke most of the time, so I want to make sure that’s off the table for things we judge him for.”

“I’m not judging him for being broke.”

“Then what’s with the face?”

“Just tell them why you made a face so I can go back to sleep,” Hudson calls.

“He just—he mentioned last night that he doesn’t like his parents, and that’s so foreign to me that I’m still processing it,” I lie.

Daphne stares at me.

She knows I’m lying. We’ve regularly discussed how awful her parents are when she starts to feel guilty for going no-contact with them. I’m well aware bad parents are a thing.

Margot doesn’t know I’m lying though. “Understandable. I’ve actually met his parents. Not because of him. Because of other things. They didn’t pass the vibe check.”

“Our parents don’t pass the vibe check,” Daphne says.

Margot ignores her, but she undoubtedly is still getting points from Daphne for what she asks next. “Are you seeing him again, Bea?”

“Oh, I don’t think so.”

Hudson ambles into the room with his curly brown hair sticking up all over. “You’re all fucking loud.”

I smile at him. “Buy you breakfast if you come to work with me today.”

“Real breakfast? Bacon and eggs and sausage and biscuits and potatoes?”

“I was going to offer tea and scones.”

“It’s too early for you to be funny,” he grumbles.

“Have I ever told you how much you remind me of Ryker in the mornings?”

He flips me off just like Margot flipped Daphne off a minute ago.

Daph and I share a high five.

We’re killing it this morning.

“So, back to Simon,” Daph says with a mouthful of pizza as the coffee maker starts to sputter and whine at the end of its cycle. “Why don’t you want to see him again?”

“Because I don’t want to date anyone right now.”

Daphne pauses with her pizza halfway back to her mouth. “That is so not a reason.”

Margot grabs the teakettle and pours hot water into her mug. “Agreed. You can’t plan timing on love.”

“ It’s not love ,” I say.

Hudson eyes the coffeepot. “I wouldn’t mind him being my stepdad-slash-brother-in-law.”

“Stop. We are not seeing each other again. While he’s funny and charming and weirdly handsome when he’s not playing a total doucheweed on TV—oh my god, you should see him in his reading glasses—he’s leaving in a few months, and I’m just not interested in falling for him.”

That last part.

After everything that happened at JC Fig and then in my burger bus last night, that last part is the biggest problem. Even bigger than the things I’m not saying— he doesn’t like me, I hurt him, he doesn’t want to see me again, and I feel bad about it .

And I think everyone in this kitchen knows it.

The part where I’m lying that I’m not interested in falling for him.

I’m still working through how I feel about him not liking me. I’m not ready to share the part where I actually do like him out loud yet.

Hudson heaves the most massive sigh that he’s capable of heaving. “ Fiiiinnne . We can get your stupid tea and scones for breakfast, and then I’ll help you at work today.”

Margot rubs his hair. “You’re such a good little brother. I wish I had a younger sibling as awesome as you.”

Daphne throws a slice of pizza crust at her.

Margot shrieks and ducks it, then dives into the booth to tickle Daphne like we’re all seven instead of nineteen to thirty.

Hudson stares at them, not blinking, not entirely horrified, but close. “That would be a lot hotter if you all weren’t my sisters.”

“Quit being such a hornball.” I rescue my tea as it sloshes over the sides with the ruckus happening on the other side of the table, then scoot out of the bench and set my computer aside.

“I’m going to shower. And I’ll take you to the diner instead of making you have tea and scones. Just because I love you.”

He makes eye contact with me, half grinning like he knew I was going to take him to the diner all along, and for a split second, I see my dad in him.