Page 30 of Revenge Brunch and Other Disasters

YES.

Liv:

DO IT.

Darcy:

If you need a backup plan, we’ll fake a medical emergency.

Rhys:

What kind of emergency?

Darcy:

Stumps swallows a decorative napkin ring and has to be helicoptered to a Very Fancy Vet.

Liv:

OR you faint from emotional repression. Either works.

Rhys:

Helpful. Terrifying.

Thanks.

Liv:

We believe in you.

Also tell her she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you, you walking cardigan.

Rhys:

I can’t say that out loud.

But he wanted to. God, he wanted to say it so badly he could feel the shape of it in his chest. It hurt not to. He thought of her last Friday, cross-legged on his couch, trying to win an argument with a toaster in a Buzzfeed quiz. Beautiful. Brilliant. A total menace.

Darcy:

Then write it down. Or text her. Or yell it into a pillow and hope she hears it by osmosis.

Just don’t let her walk into that house thinking this isn’t real.

Because we all know it is.

Sir Stumps-a-Lot barked once from the couch, then flopped over dramatically like he was already mourning Rhys’s dignity.

“Even you’re judging me now?” Rhys muttered.

The dog sighed.

Rhys opened Linda’s contact.

Hovered over the call button.

Then, like a man stepping into war armed only with SPF 50 and the support of two meddling sisters and a judgmental corgi…

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