Page 40 of Conflict
He gives her a stunning smile topped off with a wink. “Darlin’, with a face like that, you can call me anything you like.”
Ari beams, and I swear Benjamin Cunningham will soon be eating dust.
I could kiss the Australian.
Ollie leaves to help another customer, and I shoulder-check my sister.
“I think he was flirting with you,” I tell her.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not down with infidelity. I’m not trying to get my sister to hook up with a guy while she’s still with Ben. I’m merely trying to open her eyes to see that there are other, better—much better—prospects out there. No harm in that, right?
She rolls her eyes. “He’s not flirting with me. Even if he was, I wouldn’t know.”
I lean forward. “Trust me, Ari. He was flirting. I don’t know why you’d be surprised. You’re gorgeous—I mean, duh, we’re practically twins.”
Ari turns to face me, surprising me with the sudden clarity in her eyes. “Can I ask you a question?”
My brow furrows at the sobriety in her tone when I know she’s not even close. “Ari, you know you can always ask me anything.”
She lets out a deep breath, one that sends an errant bang blowing up into the air. “Do you think it’s possible to meet someone and know, in an instant, that they have the power to change your life? To change you?”
Shane’s face swims into my mind. As if he were right here, I can see the strength of his jaw, the dimple in his cheeks, the depths of his blue eyes. More than that, I feel everything I felt when we were together.
Do I believe it? Yeah. Why? Because I experienced it. Does it scare the hell out of me? Big time.
But this isn’t about me. This is about her.
“I do.”
Ari looks taken aback, as if she hadn’t expected that answer. “You do? Even if it’s a total stranger?”
“I think… I think we think too much.”
She wrinkles her nose in confusion.
I raise a hand. “Hear me out. I’m no relationship expert, right? But…I think, as a society, we’re too focused on conventional norms. Certain dates meet certain milestones. You have to spend X amount of time with someone before you’re allowed to love them. Or move in. Or even marry. And it doesn’t make sense to me. Love isn’t on a timeline. Isn’t that kind of the opposite? Love happens when it happens. That’s what makes it so incredible, that each story is unique and special and its own. There’s magic in serendipity. There’s magic in the slow burn that smolders and sizzles. There’s magic in the in between.”
Ariana blinks, and I’m not sure she’s buying what I’m saying, so I continue in terms she might understand more.
“For example, look at Aunt Vicky and Uncle Nick. They met and married within two months. Aunt Beth knew she loved him, that she’d spend the rest of her life with him, that she was willing to defy her parents and give up her inheritance. Look at them now. Thirty-five years later and nothing’s changed for them.”
Ollie interrupts, refilling our glasses, and I don’t miss the way his gaze lingers on my sister. Unfortunately for Ollie, I think Ariana’s thinking of a different man.
“I suppose that’s true. It was really fast…”
I nod. “And then the slow burn. Think about Jeremy and Sierra. Weallknew from the time they were kids that they’d end up together. But guess who didn’t know?”
“Jeremy and Sierra,” she says, nodding.
“Exactly. And then look at Jace and Lexi. Love lost and re-found. Three perfect examples of why you can’t put love on a timeline. So, yes, I believe you can meet your soul mate and know from the very first hello that that person is your person. You just have to make sure it’s not too late when you find them.”
Wrong thing to say. Ari downs her nearly full glass of wine, then gives me a watery smile. “Um, well, thank you for the insight. I, uh, I just need to go freshen up.”
“Okay,” I say, hoping I hadn’t pushed too far.
And as I sit and stare after her, I wonder why I have such a hell of a time taking my own damn advice.
Branson’s back in town and I couldn’t be more grateful. Except it’s nearly nine p.m. and neither of us has been interested in a single female we’ve seen. I’m starting to believe Grandma Kate did pour some voodoo magic into our baby bottles when we were born. One of those “once you find the one for you, your dick will never get hard for another” types of curses.
