She grabs my hand to stop me from pulling on a split end, forcing me to look at her. “They’re your best friends. It’s not a chore for them to hang out with you.”
“I know. But ever since Daphne and Emmett started hanging out with us, I never get any quality time with Emi and Kalani. Kalani always brings up how I fifth wheel them, and I don’t want them to stop inviting me out . . .”
Mom frowns, so I add, “And it’s hard to hang around them all the time because of how in love I am with Emmett.”
Mom is the only person who knows how I still feel about Emmett. I was very vocal about it to her, Emi, and Kalani in grades nine, ten, and eleven. After Kalani and Emmett became official, I stopped talking about him to everyone, but Mom got it out of me with her weird, forced confessional glare superpowers.
“Have you told them how you feel? You’ve been best friends with Kalani for years, you should talk to her,” Mom says, and she’s not wrong. Maybe I should talk to her, but how can I realistically go about doing that?
“And say what, Mom?‘Hey, stop bringing your partners around because I’m in love with your boyfriend and seeing him all the time is making it really hard to get over him. And I miss girl-time?’ That would make me sound dumb and petty.” Am I dumb and petty? Maybe. It would be worse if I actually said those words out loud to them.
She shakes her head, an amused smile pulling on her lips. “You don’t sound dumb and petty. You sound like you miss your friends.”
I do miss my friends, but it’s not like I don’t see them or anything. They’re just occupied with love, and I’m not. Well, technically I am, but it’s unrequited, and I’m trying to get over it before it ruins my friendship. “Yeah, yeah.” I dismiss her. “I gotta get to work.”
Mom opens her laptop screen again. “Yes, you do.”
Even though I work at my parents’ bakery, I don’t get any special treatment. “I’m going, I’m going.”
“Knock knock!” calls a voice. Kalani’s standing on the front porch, visible from where we’re sitting through the open windows. “Let me in!”
Kevin jumps off the couch and growls at Kalani when I open the door. “Hey! What are you doing here?”
Kalani eyes Kevin warily as she steps in. “Hi, Kevin, you grumpy girl.”
I lean down and pet Kevin, and she calmly sits beside me. Though she stops growling, she doesn’t stop glaring at Kalani.
“She’s not grumpy, she just doesn’t like people.”
“But I’ve known her since she was a puppy. She should like me.” She pouts, then she notices Mom on the couch. “Hey, Paola.” Kalani waves to Mom, and Mom greets her back. Kalani holds out a jacket. “You left this last night.”
My face heats up as I remember my haste to get out of there. “Oh, thanks.”
“No problem!” She smiles cheerily. She’s in an awfully good mood this morning. “I know you’re going to work, so I’ll get out of your hair. But don’t forget we’re doing trivia at Murphey’s tonight.”
Couples’ night? My grip on the jacket tightens. “But you didn’t want me to come? Remember? Fifth wheel?”
She waves me off, stepping back onto the porch. “Don’t be ridiculous. I have to drive Maleah to soccer practice this afternoon since my parents are . . . you know. Maybe I’ll stop by the bakery. Text you later. Bye, Paola!”
“Bye, Kalani!” Mom calls from the couch.
Clutching my jacket in my hands, I watch as she hops in her car and honks as she drives away. I was worried she was getting annoyed with me, but apparently that was unwarranted. Here I am wondering how to tell her I want a partner-free night, and she’s inviting me to a partner-specific date night. I can’t say something to her like Mom suggested or I’llreallylook like a selfish jerk.
—
Ottavio’s Bakery was my dad’s dream. Named after him, the building I’m standing in opened twenty years ago, before I was even born. It’s been through renovations since then to keep the inside looking modern, but it’s his favorite bakery of all the Ottavio’s they’ve opened, purely for sentimental reasons. It’s not a large building, but it does the job with its high ceilings and light wood everywhere. There’s a counter for espressos and other kinds of coffees, a large baked goods section offering desserts that my dad created and perfected himself, and an ice cream counter with tubs of gelato made fresh in-house.
I’ve always been more interested in art than baking, so Dad’s given up trying to get me to work as a baker in the back. My job is at the front counter, taking and packing orders, cashing people out, clearing the tables, and whatever else needs to be done. There aren’t a lot of tables inside, only a dozen small ones, but outside there are eight large picnic tables, and those fill up really quickly in the warmer seasons. Now that it’s spring, we’ll always be busy, especially since soccer season is starting and we’re right across the street from the large park that hosts multiple teams’ practices and games.
As I munch on a cannoli and wipe the counter down, a voice says, “Stealing from your place of work? Wow, Princess, that doesn’t surprise me.”
Everything in my body freezes as dread inches up my spine. It’s Pink Shorts. Standing right in front of me with a righteous smirk. But he’s not in pink shorts today; he’s in jeans and a white T-shirt that does nothing to hide how hot his body is. I was so busy trying to stuff my face that I didn’t even notice him come in. He’s just as handsome and tall and broad-shouldered and annoying as he was last night.
I dust the powdered sugar from my mouth. “Are you stalking me?”
His eyebrows draw together. “No.”
“Are you sure? Because it seems like you’re stalking me.”