Page 50 of Never Kiss Your Brother's Best Friend

We bumped the concert to last, and there’s not much prep work left for that. We handed out tickets to all the local businesses to sell and put it online to get the attention of some of the bigger towns within a sixty-or-so-mile radius.

We’ve already sold almost seven hundred seats. Everyone is jumping at the chance to support the shelter. Buddy has become our official mascot. Sterling takes that cute puppy face everywhere with him. The little guy really seems to tug at everyone’s heart strings.

So for today, my focus is solely on the silent auction. Zoe has really come through for this event. She has connections at our local country club. They’re letting us use their space free of charge. One of the members is an interior designer and offered to help decorate the space to really make it look classy. I’m so excited to see what she comes up with.

Zoe also contacted all her real estate agent friends and past clients to see if they want to contribute. The response has been overwhelming.

We’ve got fine dining experiences in Raleigh and Durham, ski packages in Vermont, and multiple weekend stays at oceanfront hotels up for bid. However, according to Peter, his contribution tops them all.

He has an old college buddy who works for the NBA. He got this friend to donate a signed jersey from a player for the Bulls, I think he said. Bulls? Cows? I don’t know. Cows probably aren’t a team name. So it must be Bulls.

I’m not a big professional sports fan, particularly not basketball. Michael Jackson is it? No, that’s music. Michael Bublé? Music again. Focus. Jordan, Michael Jordan. That’s it. I guess he’s famous or something and was a pretty good player back in the day. Peter is excited and said it will get huge bids. That’s all I care about.

Sterling and I haven’t seen each other in a few days, but he’s coming over here after work to help me. I’m excited to see him. I miss him when he’s not around, I can admit it.

My reverie is interrupted by a knock on the door.

That’s kind of strange. I didn’t think Sterling would actually knock, since he already knows that I’m here. When I look through the glass, I see it’s not Sterling. It’s Dean, and he’s holding a bouquet of flowers.

Ugh.

I open the door and skip the pleasantries to get straight to the point. “What are you doing here?”

He starts stammering, which I’ve never seen him do before. He’s always so polished when he speaks, so he must be very nervous. This makes me feel a little bad for him, but not much, since he embarrassed me in front of the entire town.

“These are for you.” He hands me a beautiful arrangement. I’m sure it cost him quite a bit, but I don’t really care.

“How did you even know where to find me?”

“It’s a small town. The lady at the front desk of the hotel was an open book.”

These are the downfalls of everybody knowing everybody.

“Thanks for these, but I’m pretty busy.” I start to close the door, but he stops it with his foot.

“Emma, please, just five minutes. I drove all this way.” Okay, it is like a seven-hour drive, so five minutes seems like a fair trade.

“Fine.” I open the door so he can step inside. “I’ll go put these in water.” I’m starting a mental timer now. Surely, I can waste at least two of his five minutes finding a vase.

Unfortunately, the vase is in the first cupboard I open. Who keeps their vases in the same place as their plastic cups? There was no way I thought it was going to be in there. But with Dean sitting at the kitchen island, I can’t pretend I don’t see it.

I fill the vase with water as slowly as possible, then put the flowers in it. Next, I decide that getting myself a drink should take another thirty seconds. When I’m finished, I walk over to the island to face Dean. Let’s just get this over with.

“You’ve got three minutes left. Go.” I take a sip of my water, trying to cool down the volcano that’s raging inside me.

Dean is clearly shocked by my assertiveness, judging by the look on his face. He's wasted enough of my life. He doesn’t get to do it anymore.

“I want you back.”

Four words. He only gets out four words out before I spit every drop of the water I'm drinking into his face. I think a few drops actually made it into his mouth.

Oh well. It wasn’t on purpose, even though he did deserve it. I couldn’t hold it in. The sheer absurdity of his opening line got me. No, “I’m sorry.” No, “Please forgive me Emma.” Just a statement about what he wants. It’s classic Dean.

I hand him a dish towel. It’s the least I can do.

Once he’s as dry as he’s going to get, he looks up at me with puppy dog eyes. I can’t believe he thinks that’s going to work.

“I miss you.” Still no apology. This is going nowhere.

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