Page 38 of Something Like Sunflowers

They say when you feel something with all your heart, you’re supposed to listen to that feeling. I never knew what they meant until this moment right here, standing in front of the girl I’ve dreamed about my whole life.

“Tell me that if we do this it won’t ruin our friendship, Dev. It’s not just Dusty I worry about. It’s you, too. I can’t lose either of you.”

“You wouldn’t lose me,” she whispers. Her lips are right beside mine. So close. Closer than they’ve ever been before.

I want to kiss them. I want to claim them as mine. I want Devyn Lynn Campbell to be my girl.

“Do it,” she breathes.

“But—”

“I dare you.”

Chapter 16

Devyn

If Hunter Isaac wasn’t six-foot-two with eyes that bore into my soul like ice daggers with one glance, it would be really freaking helpful.

“God, I understand you’re trying to get me to learn something and change my ways. You don’t throw us anything we can’t handle, am I right? But look, I am so freakin’ tipsy right now, I actually might be drunk. And I’m so sorry, God. I’ll be not-drunk next time, promise. But look, I absolutely cannot be trusted with this plan of yours tonight, so if you could just, like, make him dissipate, distract him with a burning bush or—” Ow. I’m jabbed in the shoulder by Hunter’s elbow, and I realize God is not, in fact, budging on his plan.

Well, I hope you’re ready to pop some popcorn then, Big Guy, because this is gonna be one hell of a show.

“What’re you doing?” He snickers at me. I don’t like it. We are not on good terms, and he isn’t allowed to snicker like we are. So, breaking one of my Bitch-Step Program rules, I say what I think.

“You aren’t allowed to snicker at me like we’re friends.” I sit on the stool, spinning away from him, and fold my hands beneath my chin, my elbows resting on the bar.

That’s that.

But then I decide, in my alcohol induced wisdom, that I’m not done talking to him, so I whip back around, using the stool to propel me toward him with emphasis. It makes me kinda dizzy, but it also makes a point, so it was totally worth it.

“And for your informationnnnnn,” I drag out the n for dramatic flair, “I was praying for guidance. You should try it sometime.”

“Praying?” He laughs. “In the bar? Babygirl, you got your priorities all sorts of mixed up. I don’t think the big man’s scrollin’ through drunk-girl prayers on his iPhone before bed, do you?”

“You said you wouldn’t call me babygirl anymore!” I shove his shoulder, effectively backing him up. It’s then I notice Garrison is gone, and I whine in frustration. “You ruined my night.”

“See,” he says, pointing out my whining, “you don’t want me to call you a baby? Stop actin’ like one.” He sticks his tongue out at me like he’s ten years old, and I lose it.

“Me? Me? I’m acting like a baby? You are the one who went along with the whole charity competition and let me think I even had a shot at my dream job, and you knew good and well there was no pageant anymore. Did you even think about how much it would hurt me to find out like that Miss Clara died? Or are you just a selfish, lying, fake, Hunter Isaac?” I hold up my hand. “Never mind. Don’t tell me. I think we both know the answer to that.”

Whoops. I stop and inhale sharply as I take in the wince of hurt on his face…and the streams of tears down mine. I didn’t realize I’d let them fall.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” I wipe my eyes. “I think maybe this is too much for me.” I gesture widely around the room, insinuating it’s not just the conversation that’s too much for me, but the whole home thing in general. And that thought hurts…not having a home. “I’m gonna go.”

I wipe my face and start toward the ladies’ room.

“Wait, Dev.” He scrubs his hand down his face like he does when he’s stressed out. How is he stressed, though? This is what he wanted. I walked right into his little game, and the only one who wins from here is him. The friends, the job, my dignity.

“What do you want, Hunter?”

My eyes are brimming, burning to let loose a stream of sadness, loss, guilt, self-doubt that I’ve carried with me since I left him here all those years ago. And I’m back now. Because he forced his hand in a way that gave our destiny absolutely no other path. I grind my teeth, still trying to keep it together, retain composure. Like the perfect pretty princess you’re always supposed to be.

Why did he want me back home? Why was it so important he’d lie by omission on the terms of our competition and make me believe I had a shot at a pageant charity, when he knew good and well I’d come home to find it’s gone, discontinued, extinct?

And while that thought pains me, the thought that a program that raised me from a tiny junior princess to a reigning national queen and gave me a place to be myself before I knew who that even was…is gone? The fact that all of it is done and over with in this community and other girls won’t get that opportunity to shine, all because nobody stepped up after Miss Clara and kept it going? While that pains me indefinitely, what pains me even more is the thought that maybe Hunter brought me back here because he did want me to fail. He does just want the job. It is just a competition, and I am his enemy.

Maybe it had nothing to do with his feelings for me at all.

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