Page 158 of Cloudy With a Chance of Bad Decisions

Alex had said the best revenge was being blissfully, happily in love with someone other than Brendon. But what if I…didn’t want revenge?

What if I just wanted Alex?

Wanted the days we spent together to never end? This camaraderie. Theplayfulness. The warmth?

I needed to stop focusing on the future and simply enjoy this. There were still four days left until I left for home. Four days of kissing in the summer sun, of laughter, of feeling Alex’s hands just like this.

I really needed to stop thinking that this was anything but temporary. As special as I currently felt, tucked in Alex’s arms and pampered by his affection, I knew I wasn’tactuallyspecial. Practice boyfriends weren’t real boyfriends, after all.

The sun had sunk beneath the tree line, casting sloping shadows over the lake below. I was exhausted, I could admit that. Day four of Roderick and Juniper’s Wedding Extravaganza had been fun but trying in a lot of new ways. The previous night, after Alex and I had taken a much needed post-sex nap and enjoyed our sandwiches, we’d stayed up late helping Mom prep for today. “Bachelor and Bachelorette Party Day.”

This morning had been spent setting up the obstacle course for the “Wedding-Lympics” that Roderick had insisted on. And as soon as the adults had begun to populate that, Alex and I had been assigned on kiddo babysitting duty in the main lodge hosting arts and crafts on two of the long wooden tables.

He’d periodically had to go out and take calls. A few from his mom, who he called “Nadine”, as well as a couple vendors who were anxious about their roles in the parties tonight. Aside from that, we’d stuck together all day.

There were a lot of craft options.

Shrinky Dinks galore, keychain making, and my personal favorite—friendship bracelets.

I hadn’treallymeant to make a pair of them for me and Alex.

It’d happened without me consciously recognizing what I’d done. When I realized I was nearly finished, however, it felt silly not to commit. So I tied them off and resolved myself to hide them in my backpack later—a keepsake of my first “real” boyfriend, even if he was fake.

There was no way, just by looking at them, he’d realize what they were.

At least, that’s what I told myself when Alex came to check on me and my group of preteens and caught me red-handed. The pair of bracelets were matching. One blue, one yellow, with silver charms with a respective G and A on them. In retrospect, it was pretty obvious.

“How’s it going over here?” Alex asked, one of his younger cousins, probably six or seven years old, hanging around his neck. There was another attached to one of his legs, smaller, chunkier. But both had the James family dark hair and uncannily pale eyes.

“Good,” I reassured, hiding the bracelets beneath my palm as sneakily as I could. “We’re nearly done.”

“So are we.” Alex glanced back toward his side of the table and the marker-laden mess that’d been used to make the Shrinky Dinks. “Mrs. M’s gonna cook our masterpieces.”

“Right.”

Creating Shrinky Dinks was one of the only parts of camping I’d actually liked as a child. Back then, we had to wait until we got home to bake them. That was one of the nice things about cabins—they came with ovens.

I’d been giddy as a kid, sitting in the kitchen with eager anticipation as the colorful charms we’d drawn and cut out of thin plastic would harden and “shrink” in the oven’s heat. Over the years, we’d made a variety of fun keychains and decorations for the room Joe and I had shared growing up—hanging from the windows, our bed frames, and our backpack straps when school came around again.

The kids that populated the Shrinky Dink station looked just as enthusiastic as I had been at their age. Alex did well with them, kind and playful. He had no problem helping—and I’d caught glances of him several times leaning over some of the younger kids shoulders to aid them as they drew.

His work was gorgeous, I could admit that. All straight lines. He definitely had artistic talent.

But what I found most enlightening, was how very patient he could be.

He really would make a good dad.

And Christ, did that thought make my chest constrict.

“What are you hiding?” Alex asked curiously. I was so distracted thinking about him in dad-mode that my reflexes were too slow to stop him. Apparently, I hadn’t been sneaky enough because Alex wrestled my hand open, and the friendship bracelets I’d made were revealed.

It was innocent.

Or.

It would’ve been.

If not for the charms—one to each—with our initials.

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