Page 60 of Finding New Dreams

Rose’s head swiveled toward her. “Um, no.”

“That’s too bad. Why not?”

I stiffened, listening hard and trying to look like I wasn’t, pretending to blindly admire a statue I’d seen a thousand times. But really watching Rose out of the corner of my eye.

She didn’t look my way. “Just didn’t feel like it.”

“No interesting matches?”

Rose shot her a what are you doing? look. “I didn’t say that.”

“Ooo, so you did find an interesting match. Well, tell me about him! When are you going on a date with him?”

I couldn’t help it. I faced Rose full-on, not wanting to miss a microexpression.

She bit her lip, her eyes flitting to me then away like a hummingbird. “We’re just talking right now.”

Gina didn’t take the hint. Her eyebrows lifted as she leaned forward with a suggestive smile. “But you like him, right? So after the talking…”

“Please drop it, Gina,” Rose said abruptly. “I’m going to get some water. Anybody want some?”

We all shook our heads, and she quickly walked away.

“Sorry, Flynn,” Gina said softly, looking after her friend. “I thought—”

“It’s fine. Actually, I’m getting a little lightheaded from the lemonade, so I’m going to call it a night. Say goodbye to Rose for me, will you? And the others.” I nodded to Dom, and he nodded back. “Goodnight.”

I walked in the opposite direction from Rose, hands in my pockets. I wandered along the riverbank for a while, my thoughts running like the water, with nowhere to rest. Then I headed back to my room at Chloe’s.

Sprawled across my bed, I finally checked my phone. Two messages popped up from the dating app.

RoseWithLove: I had fun with you today :)

And later—

RoseWithLove: Are you doing okay?

Heart hammering, I lay there with my thumbs poised to reply. But eventually the screen went black. I sighed and put it on its charger.

Why answer when I had no answer?

* * *

Wednesday afternoon, I eyed the gallery door, the heel of my boot bouncing against the bottom rung of my stool like a jackhammer.

The clock above the door slowly ticked toward one p.m. Mrs. Q and her kids would be pouring through that door any moment.

Rose and I had set up all the benches with fresh butcher paper, easels, canvases, paints—the whole shebang.

I sat at the head of the class where Rose usually sat for Monday paint nights. Now she sat at the first bench, facing me but tapping on her phone.

Was she talking to someone else on the dating app?

I hadn’t messaged her on there since Lumberjack Jam. I’d wanted to—damn it, I’d wanted to so bad. Almost had, several times. But I always chickened out before sending.

What good would it do?

She’d seemed so squirrely about us in front of Gina. She hadn’t wanted to admit anything. It made me feel…shameful. A prickly feeling I’d thought long dead, ever since I gave up trying to please my parents.

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