Does she notice it?
That he’s in love with her? Maybe not. Zach used to look at her just like that too. Still does whenever they’ve accidentally ended up in the same room.
I sometimes think that so many people look at her like she’s the answer to a question they’ve been asking their whole lives that she doesn’t realize it’s not normal to be loved like that. She thinks she’s broken, but she’s more put together than I ever dream of being. Effortlessly beautiful, she doesn’t have to do anything to command a room. Meanwhile, I’m lucky if I get out the door without crusted food on my clothes.
Speaking of, I somehow have strawberry shake on my shirt, and I haven’t been anywhere near Ella’s drink.
Reese's unasked question hangs between us, but he doesn’t attempt to ask me again. I don’t try to answer, either, so we’re at an awkward stalemate.
Honey's gaze darts from me to Reese, her brow slightly furrowed.
“Did I interrupt something?”
“No,” I say.
“Yes,” Reese says at the same time, his smile unfazed. “I asked Tiff if she wanted to go out with me, but I didn’t finish my proposal. I want it to be a proper date this time. Not a playdate with two four-year-old girls who dress me up as a cat while we’re on it.”
I open my mouth, willing myself to say something, but nothing comes to my head.
What the hell do I say to that?
My gaze drops to Ella, who’s thankfully too engrossed with helping Chris color in his page to notice or care about Reese’s proposal.
“Aww.” Honey’s shoulders relax, and she looks between the two of us as Reese’s words hang in the air.
I don’t answer, hoping that if I stare at the bottom of my coffee cup long enough, everyone might forget.
“Tiff?” Honey says, elbowing me on the side.
I cough. Loudly. Embarrassingly, because as much as Zach and Honey want me to be ‘normal’, dating feels so far beyond my mom life, even if it were with someone like Reese.
Reese is—well, Reese is everything I could possibly want. Funny, smart, and endlessly patient with Ella. When she and his niece, Maya, dressed him up as that cat, he just flashed his beautiful smile and meowed for the rest of the afternoon. He’s sweet, and yes, unfairly attractive, and I could keep listing all thegreat things about him until I ran out of breath, but none of that changes the fact that I can’t say yes to him, even if there is a part of me that might want to.
Jamie’s here, and throughout my time in Indiana, I’ve managed to keep Ella’s father under wraps. I doubt that’s going to be possible now, and I can’t drag someone else into this mess.
“Uh,” I say, trying to think of a way out of this conversation.
Chris whistles low, still coloring. “This is going smooth, bro. Real smooth,” he mutters under his breath.
I glance at Honey, throwing her a pleading look. She knows the drill. We’ve discussed it before, so she lets out a theatrical sigh. “Well, don’t let me stand in the way of true love. I’m just here withering away into nothing while my father and Jonathan dissect my every move like it’s their favorite group project.”
Subject change. Thank you.
“Why do you still bother working there?” Chris asks. “You said you were done with the internship after—” He cuts himself off, probably realizing there’s no delicate way to say after your breakup and the total implosion of your life courtesy of that psycho fangirl. “After everything.”
Honey waves a hand. “Yeah, well, I already got the credit signed off. It’d be stupid not to finish it out.”
It’s a decent cover. Believable, even to people who don’t know the full extent of her agreement with her father, but I know the truth. She’s staying there because of me. She’s afraid if she leaves early, her father will go back on his promise and let Jamie’s father tie me up in more litigation.
The thought twists something deep in my stomach, and even though I’ve told her to stop torturing herself to protect me, she won’t listen. I don’t want her around those people as much as I never want Ella around them—a prospect that seems to be getting closer than I’d like.
It’s been a week, and Jamie hasn’t been back, so at least having Honey on the inside means I might get a hint about what’s going on before it happens.
Chris shakes his head. “You’re a masochist.”
“Occupational hazard,” Honey says dryly, snagging one of Ella’s crayons. “And my therapist says I’m ‘building character.’ Which I think is grown-up code for ‘really, really stubborn.’”
“I think the better term for it is determined,” I add.