Page 57 of Wherever You Are

I love spending time with Daisy, and to hear that she loves me back floods me with warmth.

But at the sight of Lo’s sharp exterior, my small smile fades quickly.

“It’s cold out here,” he says. “Come inside.” His voice is like knives.

I follow Lo through the foyer. Soft voices emanate from the living room, reminding me that Lo lives with five other people and two infants. Everyone tries to stay hushed at night because of the two sleeping babies: Jane Cobalt and Maximoff Hale.

Lo veers into the living room, a typical set-up: long couch, loveseat, and a Queen Anne chair placed towards the television and fireplace. I’ve hung out here enough that I’m less and less uncomfortable every time I enter.

Tonight, however, I hug onto my backpack strap and hesitate on whether to sit or stand. We’re also not alone.

Rose Calloway, Lily’s older and fashionable sister, looms strictly by the window, her nightgown hidden with a silky black robe. And her brown hair is pulled in a tight pony. She looks simultaneously concerned and high-strung.

To add to the sheer intimidation, Connor Cobalt, her six-foot-four, dapper husband towers beside her. His confidence radiates like the rarest, most intoxicating cologne. Just like Lo, he wears drawstring pants—and his chiseled abs…holy crap. I can’t believe those are real.

Maggie would faint on the spot if she saw Connor Cobalt in his nightly glory.

I suddenly think,can he tell I’m staring at his abs?Paling, I whip my head towards Lo. What if Rose saw me ogling her husband?

This is so embarrassing.

That Willow Moore should’ve never been unleashed into the world.I hate that eulogy, but it’s staying for the moment.

Lo glances at me as he walks towards the kitchen door. I’m about to follow until he says, “Stay here for a second.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I need a minute.” He searches the room for only one person: a gangly girl in a muscle shirt (hismuscle shirt) that covers her thighs.

Lily hovers by the staircase, her eyes big with questions and worry. For him, I realize. They both wear this soul-bearing empathy for one another that’s almost hard to stare at straight-on.

“Lily,” he calls out, his voice still sharp but urgent.

Without hesitation, she bounds towards him, entangling her arms around his waist, and together, they disappear into the kitchen. Leaving me alone with Connor and Rose, two people I rarely, if ever, talk to alone.

Sure, in group settings, they exist and persist—but I still don’t knowthem personally the way that I’ve come to know Daisy, Lo, and Lily. Even though they live here too, they’re constantly on the go—and with the little free time they do have, they make room for Lo, Lily, Ryke, and Daisy. Not really me. (I don’t blame them. I’m not that chatty or the greatest of company.)

So most of my information about Connor and Rose derive fromPrincesses of Phillyand tabloids and eavesdropping (I try not to overhear but it happens).

I’ve read their bios on Wikipedia handfuls of times and deduced that they’re two intellectually superior human beings. I mean, theybothgraduated valedictorian of their prep schools and they competed in academic competitions all throughout college.

At this point in my life, I can barely pass Calculus.

I eye the closed kitchen door, worried about Lo. I strain my ears, but their voices aren’t audible at all.I upset him. This is my fault.

It’s all I can think now.

“Let me handle this, Richard,” Rose says under her breath, but her voice escalates with each syllable. “You can take a backseat.”

“Are you ill?” He touches her forehead, and she swats his hand away.

Rose glares a boiling glare and perches her hands on her hips. “That is the dumbest question you’ve asked me this week. I am standing right in front of you,perfectlyhealthy and coherent.”

“Then why else have you forgotten that your husband, me—”

“I know you’re my husband,” she growls.

“—never takes the metaphorical backseat in your metaphorical vehicle,” he finishes without pause. Without flinching either.

My eyes grow wide, stunned that I’m witnessing their rapid-fire back-and-forths up close and not onPrincesses of Philly.I can’t remember where Lily first dubbed these moments “nerd star” flirt-fighting. Maybe in the reality show or on social media.

I can’t stop watching.