Page 22 of Forgettable in Every Way

Jules blinked, taken aback.

“Come on, Jules, sing with me. You know you want to.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” She couldn’t stop herself from smiling.

“Perhaps I am.” He drew her closer, encouraged by her toothy grin and longing to breathe in her coconut scent. “But you know you want to belt out, ‘You see, sir, a man infatuate with love. Her ardent and eager slave.’”

“Sing, Princess Jewel!” Jack shouted.

“I haven’t sung in years.” She played shy, even though Simon knew better. Sure, she was unassuming, but she had it in her to join him in song.

Simon wasn’t going to let her off the hook. “I heard you sing yesterday about spaghetti,” he reminded her.

“That doesn’t count.”

“I beg to differ, love.”

“Please, Princess,” Jack aided in the cause.

Simon gazed into her brilliant eyes, reveling in the opportunity. “You can do this, Jules.”

She took a moment to study him. A debate raged in her eyes.

Simon silently prayed that whichever side was willing to open the door to him would win the debate.

She turned the doorknob just a hair when her sweet soprano voice clearly sang, “Pretty women.”

Ah, yes, pretty women, he thought. One of the prettiest standing right before his eyes.

Jules

I RUSHED TO GRAB THE clipboard containing all my notes from where I’d left it hanging on the wall of the garage, all while silently berating myself for singing with Simon. If you could call it that. I barely eked out a few lines in my passable voice. I was nowhere close to his professional level. The best I could do was stay on key. Why did he have to be so freaking charming and dress like a J.Crew model in his perfectly-fitting shorts and tight tee? I’d promised myself I’d remain aloof today after my mother unceremoniously invited Simon to help me pack during dinner last night. I thought she was doing it because she wanted the eye candy around, which also wasn’t kosher. But then, she informed me this morning she wouldn’t even be here. It was bad enough I had to do the polite thing and make his favorite apple cake for afternoon tea. Afternoon tea was practically a religious experience for Simon. I had no choice but to prepare for it. He was, after all, helping me. Although it felt like more of a hindrance.

The universe obviously hated me.

Why, why did I sing with him? Worse, I’m pretty sure I’d gazed all doe eyed at him while he’d serenaded me. Something about his baritone voice made me go all weak in the knees. It didn’t help that he’d stared adoringly back. I had to remind myself he was playing a part. He was an actor. A dang good one. But he wouldn’t fool me this time.

“Jules,” Simon interrupted my silent monologue, making me jump.

“What?” I grabbed my heart and squeaked like a timid mouse.

He laughed at my reaction. “So jumpy. I just wanted to know if this is the famous Vespa you once spoke of.”

I turned around to find Simon and Jack in the corner near my old, mint-green Vespa, which was partially covered by a canvas tarp. I loved that thing. It was a gift from my dad when I’d graduated from high school. I’d begged for one, but my mom thought they were too dangerous. So, imagine my surprise when my dad came home from work the first day of summer and handed me a set of keys. It was the nicest thing he had ever done for me. That gift made me feel seen and heard in a way I’d never known before.

I smiled, thinking of all the summers I’d ridden the Vespa around Aspen Lake, pretending I was Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday in search of a life outside of the one I knew, just like her character Princess Ann. It was kind of funny that I was now being mistaken for a princess by the most adorable boy around.

“That’s it,” I responded, more than surprised Simon remembered our conversations about it.

Simon pulled the tarp off. “It looks like it’s still in good condition.”

I neared, clasping my clipboard, and looked it over. Sadly, I hadn’t ridden it in years. I’d sort of forgotten about it, which made its pristine condition more puzzling. The paint and chrome shone as if someone had recently waxed it.

“Fancy taking a ride later? You did promise me one a long time ago,” Simon reminded me.

I hugged the clipboard tighter, thinking about how I’d gushed over my prized possession and embarrassingly told Simon he should come to Aspen Lake so I could give him a grand tour of the picture-perfect town on the back of my Vespa. And you know, so he would fall madly and passionately in love with me.

“Um ... I don’t even know if it runs.” Which was true. What was even truer was that I would never give Simon a ride. That would mean a lot of personal contact, and he was already too touchy-feely for my own good. What I really wanted to know was how he could remember all these minute details of our time in New York, but forget I existed.

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