Page 19 of Don't Puck His Best Friend
She doesn’t want to be here any more than I do. Which, perversely, makes me feel better about this entire situation.
Sirus bounces to his feet like an overeager golden retriever, immediately launching into introductions while I stand moreslowly, taking a second to actually look at the cousin I’m apparently supposed to charm tonight. There’s something in her posture, back straight, chin lifted just slightly, that suggests she’s used to holding her ground. Defensive, but not in a way that screams insecurity. More like someone who’s learned to be careful.
When I shake her hand, her grip is firm and brief, no lingering contact or coy smiles. Just politeness.
As we settle into our seats, I watch Harper study the menu. I notice her perk up every time Maddie speaks, the way her attention drifts between the conversation and whatever escape route she’s planning.
There’s a wariness in her that I recognize from my own experiences with setups. That particular blend oflet’s get this over withandplease don’t read too much into anything I say or do. It’s refreshing, actually. At least we’re on the same page about this being an obligation rather than a romantic opportunity.
Sirus leans closer to Maddie, murmuring something that makes her laugh and toss her hair in that practiced way women do when they’re enjoying being flirted with. Harper’s mouth curves into a small smile watching them, and when Sirus makes some exaggerated comment about “cousins’ night out,” she actually blushes.
I file that away immediately. She’s not as unshakable as she wants everyone to believe.
The conversation starts safe enough. College, favorite coffee shops, the usual first-date small talk that everyone’s done a hundred times before. Harper participates without really engaging, giving polite but brief answers that don’t invite follow-up questions.
But somewhere between the appetizers arriving and Sirus’s third attempt to impress Maddie with hockey stories, something shifts. We get on the topic of travel, and Harper mentions a road trip she took with Maddie last summer.
“We made it exactly two hundred miles before the tire blew out in the middle of nowhere,” she says, and suddenly she’s animated in a way she hasn’t been all evening. “So there we are, sitting on the side of some highway in rural Pennsylvania, when this pickup truck pulls over.”
Her hands start moving as she talks, sketching out the scene. “The guy was probably sixty, wearing overalls and a John Deere cap, and he takes one look at us and goes, ‘You girls need some help?’ in this thick country accent.”
I find myself leaning forward, not because I need to hear better, but because I want to catch every inflection in her voice. There’s something captivating about the way she tells a story, dry humor mixed with genuine affection for the memory.
“Long story short, he changes our tire, refuses to take any money, and gives us directions to the nearest motel. Which,” she continues, grinning now, “turned out to have a raccoon living in the bathroom.”
“A raccoon,” I repeat.
“A raccoon. Just sitting in the bathtub like he lived there. Maddie screamed so loud I thought she was being murdered.”
“I was so scared,” Maddie adds from across the table, momentarily breaking away from her conversation with Sirus.
Harper snickers, “You almost gave me a concussion. She ran straight into me and pushed me towards it.”
“It was a very large raccoon!”
Harper’s laugh is genuine, unguarded, and something in my chest does this weird little flip. I’ve been on enough dates to recognize when someone is performing versus when they’re actually enjoying themselves, and this is the first time tonight Harper seems like she’s forgotten she’s supposed to be here under duress.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Sirus shooting me a ridiculous eyebrow wiggle, like he’s sayingtold you sowithout words. I ignore him, though I can feel the corner of my mouth betraying me with a smirk.
For the first time tonight, I stop thinking about how to make a graceful exit.
“So what about you?” Harper asks, and I realize she’s actually directing a question at me instead of just being politely responsive. “Worst travel experience?”
I take a moment to think.
“Freshman year, team bus broke down in the middle of a snowstorm on the way to a game,” I say. “Spent eight hours in a truck stop with twenty-two hockey players and one working bathroom.”
“That sounds like a nightmare.”
“It was. By hour six, Sirus here had convinced himself we were going to have to resort to cannibalism to survive.”
“I was hungry,” Sirus calls over. “Always eat the goalies first, they’re usually the biggest.”
Harper snorts, actually snorts, and covers her mouth like she’s embarrassed by the sound. It’s endearing in a way that catches me completely off guard.
By the time the server brings dessert menus, Maddie and Sirus are fully in their own bubble, sharing bites of food and leaning in close enough that they might as well be the only people in the restaurant. Harper makes a quiet observation about how they’ll probably forget anyone else exists in about ten minutes.
“Then maybe we should let them have their night,” I suggest.
