Page 56 of Kind of a Bad Idea

“They looked amazing,” I agree as Seven spins my sister around the floor for their first dance. “She looks amazing.”

Binx is gorgeous in a form-fitting white satin gown and fancy up-do, but it’s the expression on her face as she gazes up at Seven that makes her shine.

She’s so in love, so happy…and I can’t help feeling smug about it.

After all, if Sprout, Seven’s eight-year-old daughter, and I hadn’t parent-trapped these two, this wedding might never have happened. I catch Sprout’s eye across the ballroom and grin, shooting her a subtle thumbs-up. She grins and gives me two enthusiastic thumbs-up back as she sways to the music, clearly ready for the first song to be over so we can join the lovebirds on the dance floor.

“My baby girl,” Mom says, dabbing at the corners of her eyes. “All grown up and married and starting a family of her own.” She pats my arm with a sniff. “That just leaves you, sweetheart. Which reminds me, Petey Sinclair is here. Remember Petey? From when you were little?”

My smile falls from my face.

Maybe if I pretend that I didn’t hear her, she’ll let it go.

“You know, Petey Sinclair,” she adds, proving she’s still my mother and not about to let anything go. Ever. “You used to play in his sandbox when you were little, and his mother and I were still doing those Tupperware parties. You had so much fun together. You’d be out there digging for hours.”

“No, I don’t remember,” I say, though I do. I remember Petey Sinclair being a pain in the butt who hogged the good shovel and kept insisting I play with his wrestler dolls, even though I have always had the good sense—even at five years old—to hate wrestling.

Mom huffs. “I find that hard to believe. You played together all the time.”

“I was five, Mom,” I mutter.

“So?” She lifts a hand to fluff her immaculate bob. I don’t know how she gets her hair to behave so well, but it’s not a trait I inherited. Fifteen minutes after leaving the hairdresser in the bridal suite this afternoon, my brown curls were frizzed all over. “I met your father when I was five, and I certainly remembered him.”

“Because you went to school with him for years after that. Petey was older than I was and homeschooled,” I say, before adding beneath my breath, “And I’m pretty sure he ate playdough and his own boogers.”

“See! I knew you remembered him,” Mom says. “He’s a doctor now, a pediatrician! Well, nearly a pediatrician. He’s doing his residency in Minneapolis, which isn’t that far to drive for a date. Especially if you do something fun on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon. He’s moving home to join his brother’s practice after he finishes his residency next year.”

“Mom, no, stop,” I say, my cheeks heating. “I don’t need you to set me up with a booger eater.”

“Well, goodness, I’m sure he doesn’t eat them anymore,” she says. “And it’s not like you were the perfect child. I remember one time I came outside to check on you in the sandbox, and you’d taken off your socks, filled them with sand, and were bonking poor Petey on the head with them.”

“I was probably trying to stop him from eating his boogers,” I say, earning a hiss from Mom and a swat on my wrist.

“Lower your voice,” she says. “His parents are here. The whole family is close with Seven’s mother. Apparently, they’ve been frequenting her establishment for decades.”

Mom says the word “establishment” like she’s talking about a crack house filled with feral, unwashed dogs, but that’s not a surprise. She’s come a long way in the months since Binx and Seven first got together, but it’s hard to teach an old snob new tricks.

At least she’s friendly with Seven and his mother, and she’s taken a genuine liking to Sprout. She even made the flower girl dress Sprout’s wearing and added extra fabric to the skirt so it would have the “twirliness” her new granddaughter requested.

My mother is, at her core, a good person.

Even if it’s hard to remember that when she’s being a bossy matchmaker who can’t take a hint to save her life…

“I could reintroduce you,” she adds. “I saw Petey talking to Barrett by the bar just a little while ago. I’m sure he’d love the chance to get reacquainted, and you look so nice tonight. Your hair’s hardly frizzy at all.”

The woman must think I don’t have eyes. My hair is a frizzed disaster, and it’s about to get worse as soon as I head out into the summer heat.

No way in heck am I sticking around the ballroom to be forced upon Petey. I’ll wait until everyone’s dancing and sneak back in later, once it’s easier to disappear into the crowd.

“Maybe later,” I say vaguely, already backing toward the balcony doors. “I have to check on something.”

“Check on something?” Mom’s brows pinch together. “Check on what?”

“A thing I promised Christian and another thing for Mel,” I say, trusting that my siblings will back me up if Mom questions either of them. I smile and wave, promising, “Be right back!”

But I have no intention of “being right back.”

As soon as I close the door to the balcony behind me, I hurry past the few other people hanging out in the steamy July air and down the staircase at the far side. In just a few minutes, I’m on the path leading to the boathouse by the lake, leaving the raucous sounds of the party behind.

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