Page 21 of Wreck Me

“You know, the movieUp.” But Ginny’s face was blank. “It’s about a house and a boy and a talking dog. I just realized how much the house paint makes it look like the one in the movie. Didn't you see it?”

She twisted her lips, thinking. “I don't see many movies…unless Sadie and Grant are in it.”

“You don’t like movies?”

“I do,” she said, shrugging noncommittally, “I just don't get around to it.”

“Well, maybe next time we’ll watch a movie then.”

She yawned so hard he could have counted to ten before her mouth closed. Then she said, “Since I’m not leaving, and you’re not getting inside, I don’t know how we’d do that.”

He snapped his fingers as if to say, ‘darn it.’ “But I know a really good one.”

“What’s it about?”

“The symbolism of loom weights in the private poems of eighteenth-century women writers.”

9

Ginny ignored Monique’s tight-lipped silence as she gave her sister a tour of the house the following Sunday morning. Even after Monique tutted something about ‘the dangers of lead fumes’ when she spotted a small section of peeling ceiling paint over the shower, Ginny just moved on to the next room. She’d woken in such a good mood, and from such a solid sleep, she felt like she could withstand just about any passive aggressiveness her older sister might throw at her. Plus, each time she caught a glance of the front yard through the windows, a memory of the previous evening with Nico gave Ginny a funny little fizzy feeling in her chest.

But as they returned to the kitchen to where Sadie and Grant waited for them to start their brunch, Ginny found it harder to ignore Monique’s griping.

“How much longer are we going to have our Sunday brunches here?” Monique said as she sat down at the kitchen booth. She looked more like she was hovering over the bench seat than deigning to place her perfectly toned derriere on it.

Sadie sipped at the coffee Grant had just handed to her. She smiled contentedly as her gaze darted around the small space. “Oh, I love it here. Reminds me of the booth at Rick’s.”

Monique gave a sniff. “Rick’s didn’t smell like dog,” she said, half under her breath.

Standing at her kitchen sink, Ginny gazed out the window, checking on the dogs. A foolish mole must have tunneled under their fence, because they were in excavation mode. She turned and handed Monique the glass of water she’d requested, but she spoke to Sadie. “What’s she’s really asking is when I’m going to give my most prized possession away to someone who doesn’t need it.”

Monique plucked the water glass from Ginny’s hand. “Give? I admit you’ve done a lot of work on the house. It’s not my style, but it certainly suits you. All in all, I’m impressed. But, Ginny, he offered you a fortune.” She appealed to the only other person in the room. “Grant, wouldn’t you think a million dollars is a fair deal for this house?”

Grant’s back was to them as he bent before the oven to check on his rewarming quiche. “I think this is a Heppner sister discussion, and nothing good will come of me having an opinion on it.” He straightened and looked at them all encouragingly. “But how about you go ahead and do your toast, because this quiche is ready, and I’ll be offended if you let it dry out.”

“Fine,” Monique said after a short pause. “Maybe with a decent breakfast in you,” she said to Ginny, “you’ll see things more clearly.” She raised her glass over the table and waited as Ginny raised her orange juice and Sadie raised her coffee. As had been their weekly tradition since the loss of their parents, they did a gentle clink.

“To Mom and Dad,” they said together.

Sadie squeezed Ginny’s hand. “They would have loved this place, Gin.”

“Yes, they would have,” Monique said, her voice taking on an uncharacteristically tender tone. “I remember you learning to hang wallpaper with Dad.”

Ginny’s eyes welled. “Thanks. Sometimes I dream I’m giving them a tour.”

There was a short silence as everyone took a sip of their drink. Monique set her glass down. “Alrighty, let’s do the next bit. No dates for me. How about you, Ginny? Any dates? Or are you a committed dog-lady now?”

Ginny opened her mouth, fully intending to state the usual “no dates,” but her mouth hung open like a lazy screen door.

Hadher front yard cook-out been a date? Her mind flashed back to the sight of Nico’s shocked face surrounded by flying veggie dogs, to his deep laugh as they’d searched together for them on their knees, and how he’d made sure that shy Annie got just as many treats as her bullying brothers. Then there’d been the moment he’d caught her chair, and their faces had ended up inches apart. Some of that had felt a little…date adjacent.

But the evening certainly hadn’t beenproposedas a date. He’d said it was only for them to get to know each other’s motivations around the house dispute—a business discussion. He hadn’t brought flowers or even complimented her. If anything, he’d insulted her life choices. None of that felt like a date.

“No,” she said finally and firmly, “no dates.” But it was too late. Both her sisters and Grant, standing at the stove cutting up the quiche he’d just pulled from the oven, stared at her expectantly.

“What was that hesitation?” Monique said, suspicion deepening her already deep voice.

Ginny tried to cover her tracks. The last thing she wanted was to describe her evening with her nemesis to his real estatelawyer. “I didn’t hesitate. I just…had some juice go down funny in my throat.”

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