Page 3 of Beg, Borrow, or Steal

Virginia laughs. “You and only you, hon. I’ve only seen him a handful of times, but that man isfiiiine,and if I shared a classroom wall with him, I’d be the first one lining up to get a shot with that bachelor.”

“You’re welcome to him as far as I’m concerned,” I say, standing up from the salon chair even though Virginia hasn’t dried or styled my hair yet. “But you’ll have a long drive ahead of you. He lives in Nebraska now.” Even if he were still here, though, I doubt he would have gone out with her. The teachers tried plenty of times to get Jack to socialize outside of school, but he always had a perfectly constructed excuse at his fingertips for why he couldn’t make it. For a guy who was so kind and friendly, he didn’t seem to actually want friends.

It’s good he’s gone. I’ll never have to arrive early to school to beat him to the best parking space again. Or debate over which beans to use in the break room coffeepot. No one will fight me over dress-up days and say that attending school as your favorite literary author is “a buzzkill” and push for Wacky Tacky Day instead. (Yes, parents, we hear that dress-up day is a nightmare, but the kids love it, so they win. Take it up with Principal Bart.)

Honestly, the only thing I regret about the day Jack left is that I went outside thinking I’d…I don’t know…say one last cutting remark to him or something; instead, I had to watch Jack drive off in his stupidly nice SUV, not receiving so much as a glance in my direction. Not even a salute or the bird out his window. But really, it’s better he didn’t stop to acknowledge me. What do you even say to someone who you’ve feuded with since college?It’s been nice hating you?

Thanks to this conversation, an uncomfortable feeling is crawling all over me. I need to get moving.

“Where are you going?” Virginia asks in dismay when I handher my cape. “You can’t leave yet. You look like a wet goat with your bangs sticking to your forehead like that.”

“Flattering—thank you,” I say with a forced laugh as I smooth the front of my cream knit tank top and tug down the legs of my Levi’s jeans so they are no longer creating the wedgie of the century. I eye my damp hair in the mirror and sigh when I see that she’s really not wrong. I have the kind of hair that’s not truly curly or straight. It hovers in some strange, lazy middle, and when it’s wet, it looks wild. Left to air-dry, it’s borderline feral. I usually straighten it or put a few wanded curls throughout, but today, I just want out of here.

“I’m short on time thanks to y’all’s juicy gossip,” I say with an indulgent smile. “I’m gonna grab some coffee and then get going with my day.”

“Busy one?” Virginia asks.

Shirley laughs. “Emily’s never not busy.”

She isn’t wrong, but most important (or less depending on how you look at it), I just want to get moving so I can stop thinking about Jack Bennett and wondering if he’s okay after his failed engagement—even though I’ll never see him again. Even though I often would have chosen to pluck my eyelashes out one by one instead of interacting with him. Even though he didn’t say goodbye to me.

Chapter Two

Emily

And bygrab coffee,I actually mean sit in the coffee shop at my favorite little corner table and work on my romance manuscript, trying to block out all thoughts of Jack and his canceled wedding that has no bearing on my life.Absolutely none.

It’s my Saturday tradition to go write for a few hours at the coffee shop, and today will be no different. (Fun fact: The coffee shop has recently been renovated and rebranded in hopes of bringing in more customers, and they have uncomfortably as well as ignorantly renamed it: the Hot Bean. And for those who do not enjoy coffee, they’ve started selling organic juice. It’s been a trial unlike any other to hold a straight face while listening to the older citizens of our town go on and on about how they can’t go a single day without that new Hot Bean juice.)

On my way through the town square (which is actually laid out like a lowercaset) I walk under the familiar blue-and-white awning of the Pie Shop and can’t resist the pull to go in. I know Noah will be there because he always works Saturdays. He’s the only other person I’ve ever known who enjoys patterns and routines as much as I do.

The bell above the door rings as I step inside and I immediately smile at the sight of Phil (of Phil’s Hardware Store) running his mouth, monopolizing the coveted window seat per usual. He has a rapt audience today. At least five town members are standing around his table, sipping their coffees and holding a box of pie. However, Phil and Todd (partners in business and life) are sharing their traditional slice of chocolate pie.

“Something really juicy must have happened to hold everyone’s attention like that,” I tell my brother, Noah, as I approach the counter.

His blond head is bowed, flannel-clad forearms resting on the countertop studying a ledger. His only acknowledgment of me is a grunt as he continues tallying the numbers in his bookkeeping (of course Noah would still use a physical book instead of software) and then finally responds with, “They’ve been going on about someone new moving to town. I don’t know, I’ve been trying to tune them out so I can focus on these damn numbers that keep coming out wrong.”

I’ve never been very good at letting my siblings work through their distress on their own, which is why I take a minute to study the lines of numbers. “You’re off on this one.”

His forehead creases as his eyes slide to where my cherry-red fingernail is pinpointing a line. “Dammit.How did you see that so quickly? I’ve been trying to figure out where it’s not adding up all morning.”

“That’s because Mom and Dad gave you all the beard hair and saved the smarts for me.” I grin at him, and he rolls his eyes. I gently close his bookkeeping journal and slide it across the weathered, generations-old countertop, and then up under my arm. “I’ll finish it for you.”

His eyes, almost the exact same shade of green as mine, hold both hesitation and relief. “You don’t have to do that, Em. It’s your summer break now.”

“Which means I have all the time in the world to help out. And I’d hate for you to run my favorite pie shop into the ground with your shitty bookkeeping,” I tell him with a tilted smile that he grins at in return. He knows better than to argue with me when my mind is set on something.

Noah stands to his full height—only a few inches taller than me—and leans back to stretch like he’s been hunched over staring at this book for hours. “Take a free pie, then,” he tells me, nodding toward the case.

“As if I wasn’t already planning to. Do you have any Vanilla Bourbon Apple?”

“I do—but those are for people who give me money in exchange for pie. What I meant was, take arhubarb piebecause those are reserved for sisters who help with things I never even asked for help with in the first place.” His eyes crinkle in the corners just like Annie’s do.

Looking at Noah is like looking at the original blueprint for each of us four Walker siblings. We are all a slight variation of him—but I tend to favor him the most. Golden blond hair. Tallish. Generally wary of people until they prove worthy of our trust. The difference surfaces when we open our mouths. Noah is more prone to grunting and silence. I’m all too happy to voice my opinions. In fact, I have to hold back ninety-eight percent of the time, and that two percent can still be too much for people.

“Where’s your wife? She’ll give me good free pie.”

“She’s on a videoconference call all morning with her label,” he says casually, like that doesn’t mean what we both know it means. Amelia is the worldwide pop sensation otherwise known as Rae Rose. She and my brother met by sheer luck when Amelia’s car broke down in his front yard three years ago. She stayed with him for a while to hide out from her fame and one thing led to another, and now they’re married. She didn’t tour her last album becauseshe wanted some time to enjoy her new marriage and focus on putting down roots in Rome. It also gave her time to work on a new album, which she tells me is her favorite one yet. I imagine this call with her label is the one where they are begging her to go on tour for it.

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