Page 5 of Kiss My Glass
“I know. I’ve seenThe Blues Brothers.”
“Ooh, we can binge watch silly movies together!” says Shelby. “Nate refuses to seeGhostbustersfor a tenth time, and he never likedWayne’s World.”
“And you still married him?”
“He has somanyother good points.”
I swear Shelby’s face turns into that love-hearts-for-eyes emoji. Ugh.
“Come on,” she pulls me by the arm again, “Nate can’t wait to see you, either.”
I think that’s overstating my brother-in-law’s fondness for me. But he’ll be relieved Shelby now has company, and reliable company at that. He knows I take no shit.
“She made it!” Shelby announces, as we enter the kitchen.
Nate steps away from the counter, where I see he’s plating up quesadillas. Good man.
“Frankie,” he says, kissing my cheek. “Really appreciate this. Thank you.”
Nate can be overly intense and earnest but he’s always sincere. I like him.
Then he gestures towards someone sitting at the table. “You know my brother, Danny, don’t you? He’s come to lend a hand here, too.”
And there he is. The sexist arrogant jerk I had the misfortune of being seated next to at Shelby and Nate’s wedding. Smiling at me with those too-perfect teeth and that fake sheen of inflated ego. Handsome and trades on it. Can’t be trusted for a second. Danny Durant. Come to lend a hand at Flora Valley for who knows how long.
Hey, Worse! Fuck you!
ChapterFour
DANNY
Uh oh. Incoming. And thanks, Nate, for only letting me know five minutes ago that Shelby’s little sister, Frankie, would be part of the home help team, too. She and I met at Shelby and Nate’s wedding last year, and I’m still not sure what I did to piss her off. Judging by her expression, she’s still pissed about whatever it was. Fun times ahead, it seems.
Thing is, despite the fact she’s trying to turn me into a toad with her angry eyes, I’m blown away by how gorgeous she is. I was struck by her at the wedding, and I’m doubly struck now. That heart-shaped face, with ridiculously perfect luminous skin. Those huge blue eyes, and the mouth, wide and generous, with like a cupid’s bow in the middle. I’m no poet, so I’ve probably made her sound like some weird identikit picture. Frankie Armstrong is gorgeous, let’s leave it at that.
And she hates me. For some misdeed I guarantee she believes I ought to apologize for. If I knew what it was, I might.
“Danny,” she says. The minimum viable acknowledgment.
“Frankie.” Two can play at that game.
Nate, ever alert, spots the ice crystals in the air between us. Glares atme, as if it’smyfault. I resist giving him the middle finger.
“Is there something Shelby and I should know?” he demands.
Shelby, who’s getting beer out of the fridge, stares at us, wide-eyed. “What? What do we need to know? Is it bad? Please don’t let it be bad. These days, I burst into tears when I can’t solve Wordle.”
Now, it’s Frankie giving me a look, an accusatory arch of her perfect eyebrow. Right, okay then – everyone blame Danny. Durant family dropout. Least serious. Least reliable. I should be used to it by now, but it still rankles.
“I don’t know.” I don’t bother to disguise my irritation, not even to spare Shelby. “Frankie here has taken against me for some reason.”
“Forsomereason?” says Frankie. “You mean, there could be so many reasons, you’re finding it hard to choose?”
“Here we go,” I hear Nate mutter under his breath.
“I seriously have no idea! All I was doing was shooting the shit with the other wedding guests at our table,” I say. “We were all slightly drunk and telling funny stories. You got huffy and stormed off.”
“Wow,” said Frankie. “Just – wow.” She looks at Nate. “Has he always had his head stuck this far up his own asshole?”
