Page 51 of Done with You

Sleep eluded her after that.

She tossed and turned for hours, tuning into the light sounds of the house, sure that Aiden was going to get up again and finish the job in the bathroom.

So what if he does?

A big part of her thought that if he did, she’d get up and help him out. But an even bigger part of her said that was a terrible idea and she would need a frontal lobotomy if she actually went through with it.

She never heard him get up. So she never got up.

All for the better.

Even though she didn’t feel rested at all, she must have fallen back to sleep at some point, because she woke with a start around seven-thirty, where she found yet another puddle in her panties. But at least this time she couldn’t remember her dirty dream, so if anybody asked—not that anybody would—she’d had a filthy, satisfying dream about Scott Eastwood NOT Aiden Lassiter.

Dead on her feet, she schlepped her way out of her room and into the living room. The only person there was Rayma. She was dressed in professional casual clothing; gray slacks and a cotton button-up shirt the color of a candy apple. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and curtain bangs framed her face. She looked so … grown up.

“’Mornin’, sunshine,” Rayma said with a grin, pouring herself a cup of coffee from the French press. “You get any sleep last night? Or were you too riled up from the pop-up show you walked in on in the bathroom?”

Oona groaned and took a seat at the island on one of the bar stools. “Where is he?”

“Who? Aiden?”

Oona nodded.

“Out for a run. He left about ten minutes ago.”

Even though Oona had no idea how long Aiden’s run would last, she allowed her shoulders to leave her ears and she leaned forward and rested her head on the cool granite countertop.

“Okay, what the hell is going on?” Rayma asked, the sound of the electric kettle whirring behind her. She’d gone out and bought Oona’s favorite stash brand, double bergamot Earl Grey tea, which was so thoughtful. And now, she was brewing her a cup. Rayma really was such a grown up now. So thoughtful. So put-together and organized.

All her sisters were.

Even though Oona had a PhD and was a successful therapist, hanging out with her sisters yesterday—who were all happy and in love—just reconfirmed that Oona was the one with her life in the most amount of disarray. She felt like an unlovable, broken mess compared to her sisters.

“Oons!” Rayma said louder, snapping Oona out of her self-deprecating fog. “What is going on?”

Oona lifted her head and blinked a few times. “What do you mean?”

“Between you and Aiden. Did something happen? Is he being an asshole?”

Yes. An enormous, gaping, shit-filled asshole, to be precise.

“Um … no. It’s just … it’s weird. Knowing that you’re trying to set us up, and I just … we’re very different people. I don’t think it’s going to work out. He’s a jerk.”

“Okay …” Rayma said with an upward inflection to her tone. “Then just be friendly. You don’t have to cram your genitals together just because I want you to.”

Oona groaned and rolled her eyes. “There are about a billion different ways for you to describe what you just said, that would be far less graphic or vulgar.”

Rayma snorted. “Yeah, but none of them would make you make that face.” The kettle beeped and Rayma went about making Oona her tea just the way she liked it. She also had fresh muffins on the counter, popped one in the microwave for fifteen seconds, then passed it to Oona with the butter dish. “Because I know you get an upset stomach if you drink black tea on an empty stomach.”

“Still filter free, but all grown up,” Oona said, taking a small wedge of butter off the main brick and smearing it onto half of her steaming orange cranberry muffin. “Did you make these?”

“Nana Joy did. I can cook, but baking has never been my forte. Too precise.”

“And that conflicts with the rebel image you’re trying to portray?” Oona asked with a teasing smile as she took a bite from the muffin.

“Damn straight. Measure this, sift that. Pfsst. Fuck that noise. If I want to add more vanilla, I’ll damn well add more vanilla. See if I care.” She sipped her coffee. “Vanilla extract is to baking, as garlic is to cooking.”

Oona lifted a brow.

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