Page 36 of Love at Teamsgiving
She clears he throat as if realizing what I meant. “Right. But since they know we don’t get along, perhaps they’ll make other arrangements.”
“Sure. Considering they paired us up to plan the wedding. Makes perfect sense.” My voice drips with sarcasm.
She doesn’t argue further because I have a point. “This begs the question, why did they think this was a good idea? Maybe I’m not one of Shane’s best friends and he’s just using this as an opportunity to get back at me for the time I had two dozen pizzas sent to his dorm room.”
“Did you do that?”
“Of course. You know how competitive I am.”
Junie knows everything about me.
I say, “We have to figure this out for Shane and Erica.”
She leans back in her seat as if overwhelmed. “I’m trying to settle my mother in and open a salon.”
“I’m a season starter with a brand new team.”
She whips her head in my direction. “Are you saying you’re busier than me?”
“I’m saying we both have our hands full, but we can do this together.”
Her gaze slides to mine as if she expects me to cap off my comment by adding something insulting, like in our typical back-and-forth banter. But when I don’t, it’s like the wind that rustled up autumn leaves settles and they slowly drift to the ground before landing softly.
“We have three jobs. Let’s delegate and not screw it up for their sake.”
“For their sake,” I repeat.
“Let’s call a truce.”
“Good idea. I can do that.” We certainly can’t go on like this.
“To tolerate each other.”
I stop at a traffic light. Junie extends her hand. “Truce shake.”
“Deal.” I slide my hand around hers, gripping tight and relishing her smooth, warm skin against mine. I don’t want to let go.
Our gazes float together, illuminated by the passing headlights. She blinks slowly. I lose track of place and time until someone honks.
“We’re doing this for them,” she says as if trying to convince herself when she doesn’t drop my grip.
“Of course,” I say, getting into gear.
But are we doing this for them or us? Both?
A moment later, she says, “The tri-tips and mashed potatoes were really good, Shane.”
“Now you play along. Well, I won’t tell your mother,” I joke.
“She hasn’t cooked in months.”
“I find that hard to believe.” Mrs. Popovik rivals my mother in the kitchen, which is part of their problem. They’re always trying to show each other up.
“Ever since Papa died ... ” She lets me finish the sentence.
“I’m sorry, Junie.” My hand finds hers again and squeezes as I head toward my house.
“Thanks. I lost him and then it’s like she just checked out.”
