Page 42 of Love is an Open Book
“That’s sweet of you, but I’m not doing it on my own.” Too late, I catch on to her tactic. But before she can ask who I’ve been going out with, my phone vibrates.
Grateful for the intrusion, I waste no time in picking it up, expecting yet another text from Sera’s family about the baby shower we’re throwing—they’ve totally hijacked the planning but it’s probably for the best with how much of the book I’ve yet to finish—but instead of a question about table linens, I see two new texts from Gavin.
Gavin:I’ve got the perfect way to test fish-out-of-water.
Gavin:You, me, and a landscaping crew.
Biting back a smile, I tap out a response.
Mia:Sounds more like the title of a why-choose romance.
Gavin:That wasn’t on the trope list. Should I look it up?
Mia:We both know you’re going to anyway.
“Thought you didn’t have time for dating.” Kim looks up from chopping an onion. “That’s the goofy grin that comes from reading a crush’s text.”
“I am not crushing.” Another buzz from my phone, and I bite my lip at the GIF Gavin’s sent of a guy looking shell-shocked.
Gavin:Definitely not what I had in mind. I convinced a bunch of coworkers to join me for the annual community restoration project. We’re cleaning up a lot on Fifth Street this Friday and Saturday. Wanna join?
He sends a screenshot of the Annual Community Give-Back Weekend website.
My sister pulls the phone from my hands and frowns at the texts. “Just Gavin?” She shakes her head and mumbles, “I thought you were actually putting yourself out there...” She trails off, scrolling up through the messages, and a nefarious gleam lights her eyes. “He’s the one you’ve been going out with, isn’t he?”
“Yes, but it’s not like that.”
She lets out a whoop and starts dancing.
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“You—” she amps up the moves that make it clear she hasn’t set foot in a club in ten years “—need to tell me everything.”
That’s asking a lot. I’m not even sure what we’ve gotten ourselves into. “Best I can do is the broad strokes.”
“Mia.” She draws out my name like when we were kids and she was trying to get me to do something scary, like the ropes course at summer camp, and I can’t hold back a smile.
“It’s a long story. Don’t you have unpacking to get back to?”
Her grin is the opposite of reassuring. “Painters are at the house, and I brought the fixings for braised beef ragu. I’ve got all day.”
This wasn’t a drop-in visit. It was a planned invasion, and I fell for it. But maybe it will be good to get her perspective on our wild scheme.
Three hours later we sit down to eat. My contribution to the meal was setting the table and putting the zinnias Kim brought into an oversize coffee mug I got at a friend’s book launch party that says, NOT ALL HEROES WEAR CAPES. MINE WEAR KILTS.
Kim, on the other hand, transformed a garden’s worth of produce and an honest-to-goodness butcher-paper-wrapped cutof meat into the delicious sauce she’s ladling over pappardelle noodles. “Since when do writers method act?”
I break off a piece of the crusty bread she brought, warm from the oven. “It’s just to get out of my routine.” I explained the trope tests as briefly as possible, and after dodging a few nosy questions, managed to distract her by asking about her new job and sitting through a few episodes of her favorite reality show that I usually refuse to watch.
But I should’ve known she wouldn’t leave the topic alone. “Why Gavin?”
That’s the angle she’s stuck on. “We trust each other. And I don’t have to worry about navigating dates with strangers.”
She settles back, twirling noodles on her fork. “And he doesn’t mind joining you in these experiments?”
“He suggested it.”
“Is he single?”
