Page 26 of Say Yes to the Hot Mess

“Is that so?” I say, tilting my head and cocking one brow at her.

“Yes,” she says firmly. “We got off on the wrong foot.”

I nod slowly. “And I suppose this has nothing to do with trying to convince me to let you stay?”

Her eyes widen for a fraction of a second, but then that expression is gone. “Look, I just wanted to try to smooth things over, okay?” she says. “And also I wanted to ask—well, I know you said you needed a date—and my dryer—” She cuts off, looking determined, and then stands up a little straighter, hoisting Archer further up as she does so. “My dryer is struggling, and I tried fixing it today, but I can’t. It’s too heavy to move, and I don’t have any of the tools I need. So if you’ll come help me with my dryer, I’ll—I would be—I can accompany you on whatever date you need.”

Now my eyes are the ones widening, and I think my jaw drops, although I can’t be certain.

“You…what?” I say, like an idiot.

“Your date,” she says, and she seems a little more confident now. Maybe seeing me off-kilter is helping her. “You need a date, right? That’s what you said when you were on the phone. And you said you were going to help someone with a microwave, and I have a dryer I need looked at…see?” She raises her eyebrows expectantly at me. “A service for a service. You help with the dryer, I’ll help with the…” Her nose wrinkles with distaste. “With the date.”

“Wow,” I say. “Don’t sound too excited.”

She huffs. “Well, it’s not like we know each other very well or anything. But I really could help.” Then she closes her eyes, squeezing them tightly shut, and her nose crinkles. Under her breath, so quietly I almost don’t hear, she whispers, “Say yes, say yes, say yes—”

“No,” I say. I’m shaking my head before the rest of her words have even fully registered. “No. To the date—no.”

I’m not sure if I’m imagining the look of hurt that streaks across her face, but a second later I add, “I’ll help you with your dryer, and it’s nice of you to offer, but don’t worry about the date. I’ll—I don’t need help with that. Thank you, though,” I add, after a longer pause than is probably acceptable.

She gives me a jerky nod. “That’s fine. Don’t worry about the dryer, in that case. I’d like an even trade. I’ll try maintenance again.” She scoots backward, away from the door, and says awkwardly, “I’m gonna go—just—yeah. Watch some Turkish TV. OrSay Yes to the Dress. Something happy and sappy and…I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

What is it with women and Turkish shows? Hanan loves them too.

But before I can say anything, she gestures at the plate of cookies in my hand and smiles, saying, “Enjoy!”

To her credit, I think she’s genuinely trying to be cheerful right now—but she’s not very successful. Her smile is taut, and there are no laugh lines around her eyes. For some reason I don’t understand, she actually seems hurt that I rejected her offer.

Which is stupid, right? I’m probably imagining that. I doubt she cares either way. Or, if anything, she’s probablyrelievedI said no.

But I could never take Maya Ellis to a wedding. We can’t be in the same room for longer than thirty seconds without arguing—even if, admittedly, I sort of had fun arguing with her last night. How on earth would we manage a car ride and two days away? Plus, there’s the fact that we barely know each other.

Unfortunate about her dryer, though. Maybe I could convince her to let me look at it anyway. I’m not a repairman or anything, but I know my way around appliances well enough. In all reality, I subscribe more to the “teach a man to fish” school, so I think it would be more beneficial to teach her how to fix it rather than just doing it myself, but I could at least show her how.

I watch her walk away, her skirt swishing back and forth as she moves, Archer kicking his chubby little legs as he rests on her hip. Despite the fact that he’s a total chunker, she handles him with ease, shifting him effortlessly from her right side to her left when she reaches her front door.

I step back inside, taking the plate of cookies to the kitchen and setting it on the counter. I just stare at it for a second, my mind grappling with itself. I don’t particularly want a cookie right now, nor am I even hungry, but…I can’t deny I’m curious to know what cookies made by Maya taste like.

“Probably the same as cookies made by anyone else,” I mutter, rolling my eyes at my weird thought process. Still, it doesn’t stop me from peeling back the plastic wrap and choosing a cookie, bringing it to my lips and taking a bite.

Crunch.

I smile as I begin to chew, though I really couldn’t say why. The still-warm cookie doesn’t look or taste burnt, but it’s crispy, so I’m not sure what that’s about. I finish it off in two more bites, putting a piece of bread on top of the cookies and then putting the plastic wrap back in place. Maybe the bread will soften them up—it’s how my nanny growing up always kept her homemade cookies from drying out too quickly.

And before I can question my sudden nostalgia, I find myself pulling out my phone and calling my brother. He’s three years younger than me, and though our personalities are fairly different, we’ve always been close.

“Hey,” I say when he answers.

“Hey, what’s up?” Jude says.

“Not much,” I say, eyeing the plate of cookies on my counter. “Hey, do you remember Nanny Fae?”

Jude snorts. “Of course I do. She was my first crush.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Gross. She was like, in her thirties.”

“You’re twenty-six,” Jude points out.

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