Page 60 of No More Bad Boys
That true love thing? I’m willing to allow that itmightexist after all.
The only tangle is that the promised meet-the-sibling get-together never materializes. Whenever Blake says he can make it, Kenley’s not available—she has so much going on with work and wedding planning. And whenever it’s a good time for her, Blake seems to have plans.
It’s frustrating. I mean now that I’m finally ready for them to meet, they’re the ones who are keeping it from happening.
I’ve actually seenhissister several times. At her suggestion, Whitney and I went to the rock-climbing gym last week, and we met for lunch earlier this week.
Tonight, she and Blake came to see my summer-league lacrosse game. Afterward, he suggests having drinks at a pub called Darby’s—apparently a favorite haunt of the Atlanta TV news crowd.
At first I’m worried about going out in my uniform, but when we step through the doors, those concerns disappear.
The place smells like beer and popcorn. It’s dark and loud and crowded, with a huge bar that takes up nearly an entire wall.
The ornate wooden structure looks like it was salvaged from a much older building and gives Darby’s the personality of a pub straight out of an Irish village.
There’s a mixed crowd—definitely a dressed-up young professional contingent—but to my relief, there are a lot of dressed-down folks as well. One table is filled with a group of thirty-and-forty-something guys who must have come straight from the softball field.
I relax, and we settle in for drinks and some greasy bar food.
When Blake gets up to get a second round for me and Whitney and another Coke for himself, I lean across the table, raising my voice to be heard above the marginally talented singer belting out a Taylor Swift tune in one corner.
Apparently Friday nights are Karaoke nights at Darby’s—good to know so I can avoid them in the future.
“So, I’ve noticed he never really drinks. Is that because of your mom?”
Whitney gives me a round-eyed glance. “He told you about that? Wow. I don’t think he’s ever told anyone about her.”
She studies me over the rim of her almost-empty beer mug. “Do you like him, Cadence?”
“Of course.”
“No. I mean… do you really like him? Like, care for him? Because, I know my brother pretty well, and—donottell him I said this—I think he’s in love with you. I’d hate to see him get hurt because you don’t feel the same way. Or at least feel something close for him. It’s okay if you don’t—you’re still really young. It would just be better to let him know earlier rather than later, you know? ”
Her words steal my breath, so it takes me a couple minutes to respond.
It’s not that she’s shocked me—I’ve been feeling him fall, just as I’ve been falling for him. I’ve thought several times he was on the verge of telling me something of great import, andI love youseems like the only really big revelation we’ve yet to make to each other.
I’m just blown away by hercertaintyof his feelings for me.
“Actually, I—”
“Here we are, ladies.”
Blake slides back into the booth beside me, pushing a full beer toward Whitney and placing a glass of white wine in front of me.
“My ears are burning. Are you two talking about me?”
My entire body flushes with heat as Whitney looks at me—anticipation clear on her face. Does she really expect me to reveal my heart’s deepest feelings right here at the table? With her watching? Not happening.
“No—we were talking about the stellarmusic,” I joke.
He nods and laughs at my sarcasm, obviously remembering my disdain of karaoke and buying the cover story.
Ishouldtell him the truth about my feelings. It makes sense. I do love him, and he should know. Especially if he loves me, too.
But can I summon the courage to do it? Suddenly, I can’t finish my drink fast enough.
Whitney takes a few sips of hers, and perhaps reading the situation, makes an announcement. “Well, I’m going to head home. You newsies have better stamina than we interior designers, I’m afraid.”
