Page 22 of The Candlemaker

“What are you doing?” Her gaze slid to her clothes.

I swallowed hard and then forced a wide smile onto my face. “Changing, and then you’re going to braid my hair.” As her eyes widened, I dipped my chin and said softly, “I’m going as you, Lou.”

“Frankie…” Lou folded her arms, the timid titan in her returning.

“I can’t go as myself. How does it look that he invited you to dinner and your twin shows up? That kind of bait-and-switch definitely won’t help your case. And to tell him the truth—that we know who he is, and I’m there to convince him on your behalf—that’s even worse.”

She chewed on her bottom lip.“But you hate the idea of…”

I stiffened for a second. “I know,” I said and gave her a brave smile. “But I’ll do it for you.”

I hated pretending.No, not quite.I hated the idea of pretending to be my twin. How many movies, how many stories, hell, how many times had my sister and I been asked if we ever traded places? Until today, the answer was a firm no.

“Now, pick out your most ‘Lou’ outfit and help me get ready.” I pulled her in front of me to sort through her clothes. My taste in clothes ran toward the rainbow, meanwhile, Lou lived calmly in a sea of neutral and beige.

“Okay.” She reached forward, instantly picking tan linen pants, a white blouse, and a long white blazer and handing them to me.

“One Lou Kinkade coming right up.” I smiled and began to strip.

For all my tricks and jokes and shenanigans, I’d never asked Lou to switch places. I was happy to be outspoken, brave, playful, and a little wild at my best. I was also happy to be immature, compulsive, and reckless at my worst. I was happy to be me. Good and bad. Right and wrong. Imperfect in many ways. And no matter what I wanted to accomplish, I never wanted to be anyone else. Let alone the one person in this world who looked exactly like me.

I was me. Take it or leave it.

But tonight…tonight I’d be Lou. Just this once. Because she deserved this. Her dream. Her happiness. And if all that took was a little flirting with Chandler Collins, I’d suffer through it.

“Ow.” I winced, my hand crashing into Lou’s spare set of glasses for the third time in fifteen minutes and jamming them into the bridge of my nose.

“Careful,” she chided, pulling my old VW Bug up to the curb to drop me off.

“I’m fine.” Huffing, I pushed the glasses onto my head and rubbed the corner of my eye where it itched, letting the glasses flop back down when I was done.

Then I ran my hands along the braids in my hair. The collar of the blazer. The linen lying comfortably and loosely on my thighs.Breathe, Frankie.

I wasn’t nervous. I shouldn’t be nervous.I was never nervous.But what other reason could there be for my thumping pulse and flushed cheeks? I had to be nervous—had to be afraid to mess this up for Lou. The alternative was the whole haywire sensation starting evenbeforeI saw him. And that was out of the question.

“All right, I’ll text you when I’m done,” I said just as she pulled up to the curb in front of the steakhouse, the low-lit sconces and carved topiaries setting the stage for the kind of fancy to expect inside.

“Okay, Frankie?—”

“Be careful, I know.” I smiled at my sister—or at least, I think I did. Even just the slight prescription of her glasses made everything foggy.

It was one of our many differences, but only one of the few physical ones. Lou had contacts and said I could justpretend to be wearing those…but she never wore her contacts. This wasn’t only about convincing Chandler that I was Lou; it was anyone else from town who might be at the restaurant that I had to worry about.

I took the two small steps up to the entrance carefully and then turned. Lou still hadn’t driven away, so I shooed her with my hand and then waited. I wasn’t going inside until she was gone.

She hesitated a beat, then caved with a small wave and drove off.

All right, time to enact the next phase of this plan: WWLD. What Would Lou Do?

I opened the door and stepped inside, inhaling deep as soon as I was firmly planted inside Brazos. Everyone agreed that scent stimulated appetite, but I would argue it did far more than that; scent set the scene whether there was food or not. It was the way salt and brine could take you right to the edge of the waves with your toes in the sand. It was the lingering pinch of cedar embers and smoke that drew you up to a crackling campfire. It was only aroma that had the immense, invisible power to paint a picture of where you were or where you wanted to be.

And here, there was cedar wood. Bergamot. A hint of pepper—no.I flung my eyes wide open. Lou wouldn’t be smelling the room to get a sense of therestaurant, she’d be scanning it. Cataloging her surroundings for who was there—who was new and who she knew. So, I wrinkled the last hint of thyme from my nostrils and set my eyes farther into the space.

The shadowed atmosphere was tempting. Sultry, even. Pools of light peppered the space, centering around each of the round tables, some secluded by booths along the perimeters; others, larger and in the center, on display for everyone who walked by. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been here. Thedark wood, midnight tablecloths, and rich bronze sconces were all new. But in spite of the updated interior, I instantly picked out the roots that tied this place to Friendship. A portrait of the original owners. The farm. Several large seascapes spaced along the walls.

I looked back to the hostess stand, instantly recognizing the blond at the podium. Charlie Moore. My body tipped forward, about to take a step, and then I caught myself; Lou wouldn’t approach the podium. She’d either send me or she’d wait until the hostess noticed her and called her forward.

Linking my hands in front of me, I stayed put, lowering my gaze to the floor and imagining roots growing around my feet, securing myself from the urge to take charge.

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