Page 42 of The ABCs of You & Me

FOSTER

Sophie’s house is very her. All fresh decor but with touches of warmth everywhere. Pictures of her with her parents and friends and even cows line the walls. More throws than one person needs are draped over the couch and armchair and spilling out of a cloth basket. Well-loved books fill the shelves surrounding the TV.

“So you’re a real grownup,” I say, walking over to the bookshelf to see what she’s got.

“I am pretending to be one, somewhat successfully,” she chirps, joining me.

She has the entire JRR Tolkien catalog, and I pull out the special edition ofThe Hobbit. I read this book every summer. I wonder if she remembers that. Cass used to tease me about it, but Sophie never did.

“Oh, are you a fan of his?” she asks innocently.

“He’s alright.” I shrug, slipping the book back in its place. “A bit long-winded at times.”

“No one could describe a tiny insignificant detail like he could,” she says solemnly.

“Can I have a tour?”

Sophie spins and waves for me to follow. “This”—she turns back to the living room—“is the living room.”

“Ooooh,” I revel. “It’s very green. Very chic.”

“I like green,” she says, turning to admire the walls. I likeherin green, surrounded by it, wrapped in it. “This way.”

I follow through the living room and into an open, modern kitchen with pale green walls, white counters, and dusty blue cupboards. A vase of cherry blossoms sits on the counter, adding to the fresh spring vibes. Sophie stands in the center with her arms out like a showroom model. I’d buy anything she was selling.

“This is where all the magic will happen tonight,” she jokes, dropping her arms and turning toward the dining area.

I have to remind myself that she means that there will be delicious food served from this room, and not that we’ll be acting out one of the dreams I used to have about her when I was a teenager. Dreams that have begun to slowly creep back in, except now they’re more intense, more detailed than anything my teenage brain could come up with.

“Is this where the eating happens?” I point toward the table that is the focal point of the room.

She smiles brightly, indoor sunshine. “I see you’ve been in one of these before.”

Running my fingers across the white table, I offer a small shrug. “Once or twice.”

Next, we head down the hall to the bathroom, a spare bedroom, and then she stops and points at a closed door. “And that’s my room, but I didn’t clean it so we won’t be going in there.”

“Why do I feel like that room is cleaner than ninety percent of bedrooms out there?”

“Because you’re looking at how clean the rest of the house is and applying logic. I cleaned all night after my mom called to tell me she was coming, but I didn’t touch my room. That is where all the mess moved to.” She points at the door. “It’s amazing I got the rest of the house done, but nothing cures avoidance like company coming over.”

I give her a once-over. She’s flawless in her dark denim and green sweater. Her hair is up in one of those messy ponytails that looks effortless but I know from my sister takes forever to look fashionably messy. I’m pretty sure she’s only got mascara on, like usual.

“You don’t look like you were up all night.”

“That’s because I’m used to functioning on very little sleep.”

What I would give for a sleepless night with Sophie Hore.

The front door swings open as we’re heading back to the living room, and I hear a voice I haven’t heard in years sing hello through the house.

“Hey, Mom,” Sophie sings back.

Mrs. Hore sweeps Sophie into a hug, and her eyes widen comically when they land on me. She quickly guides her daughter out of her way and has me pulled into her arms a second later.

“Foster Walsh,” she exclaims into my sternum. “My god, it has been forever since I’ve seen you.” She takes a step back and she studies me. “Sophie, why didn’t you tell me you had a handsome man over? I could have gone elsewhere.”

Sophie rolls her eyes as a pretty blush spreads across her cheeks. “We work together, Mom, and I figured you might want to see him.”

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