Page 69 of The Sun and the Moon
I grin at the idea of sequoia-size Hawthorne hugging it out instead of throwing a punch.
“Should we get our axe-throwing tickets from the parents?” Sydney asks, moving her hand from its place bumping against mine. Lola’s gaze latches on to the now-empty space beside my hand, and her left brow hooks. I lock on to her gaze before she looks back at me. I try to send telepathic signals for her to play it cool.Please.
“You wanna ask them, Sydney?” Lola says, a tiny smirk twisting her lips. Fortunately, Sydney doesn’t seem to notice the moment passing between Lola and me.
“Sure thing,” she says, walking off in their direction. My eyes follow her for a second before returning record-scratch fast to Lola.
“Were you two holding hands?” she asks, a little too loud for my liking. I press into her, grabbing her by the wrist and giving it a light squeeze.
“Not so loud,” I say, cutting my eyes toward Moira, Rick, and Sydney.
“Why does it matter if they hear? It’s not like you’re forbidden from hooking up with the adult daughter of the guy marrying your estranged mom,” Lola says, thankfully lowering her voice to a volume that doesn’t carry so easily. “Maybe not the most advisable decision, but—” She stops dead when her eyes meet mine.
“Don’t,” I try, but she’s putting the pieces together.
Lola knows me well, a truth I wish didn’t run so deep.
“Hold the fucking phone,” she exclaims in a whisper-scream. “How is it possible? You two met at dinner, not Kismet.” I give her a tiny headshake. “Explain, motherfucker.”
“We met while you were out getting us coffee,” I say. A scowl twitches over her features, making them all pinch up.
“That’s why you weren’t there when I got back.” She smacksme on the arm with just enough force that I feel it through my thick denim jacket. “And you didn’t run straight for the hills?”
“What good would that have done?” I ask. “Her dad is marrying Moira. Running would only remove her from my life if I never came back.”
“Seems like a perfect excuse.” Her voice ripples with sarcasm.
“Not when I came here because I don’t trust Moira to begin with.”
She cocks out a hip. “I knew it was more than just generalized concern.”
“Okay, yes, I was sus, and I came here to expose her.”
“You came here to make her pay,” Lola says. She’s not pulling any punches, and I don’t blame her. My behavior may have been grounded in good intentions, but my heart wasn’t in the right place. I can admit that, embarrassing as it is.
“So what if I did?” I say, but as soon as I do, and before she can reply, we are interrupted by Sydney’s immediate approach. She’s holding four red tickets in her hand and wearing a grin.
“Wrangled all of us a chance,” she says, smiling ear to ear. “Dad didn’t want to give one to Hawthorne on account of your situationship status.”
“Oh geez,” Lola exclaims, her vitriol now focused on Rick and not me. “I really did a number on him when I broke up with Wednesday.”
Sydney snorts. “Like the beloved television and comic book character?”
“In more ways than one,” Lola replies. Sydney chuckles. Thankfully it looks like she’s dropping both the Moira vengeance plan and the topic of me and Sydney’s developingwhatever this is.
For now.
Dancing around the whole soulmate prediction would be bad enough, but getting into the ins and outs of our hookup is more complicated territory. Sydney and I haven’t had time to talk about it between us, so I really shouldn’t be talking about it with Lola.
Sydney doles out our tickets, giving two to Lola, and we all head off down a narrow side street that leads to the area where they have set up the axe-throwing arena. I’m tall for a woman, and so is Moira, so it’s easy to see her across the crowd. Easier still to feel her gaze traveling along with me.
At some point I will have to talk to her. I can’t avoid it forever. Not if I truly am abandoning the scheme, letting this whole ride go to its natural conclusion. Accepting that the conclusion might be her grand romance with the father of my intended-by-the-Universe soulmate.
Sydney steps up closer to me when Lola breaks off from us, spotting Hawthorne in the line winding its way out of the axe-throwing tent.
“Is it true?” Sydney questions. I’m thrown, worried that somehow my inner monologue made it out of my mouth.
“Is what true?” I ask.Don’t knee-jerk the response. God, her skin shimmers.
