Page 93 of Sweet Thing

“It just happened,” I mumbled.

Rosie folded her arms. “Sure it did. When were you going to tell me?”

“Um … never?” At her semi-outraged expression, I rushed on. “I knew you wouldn’t approve because you’ll think I don’t know what I’m doing. And maybe I don’t. But I’d rather experiencesomethingthan feel like I’m … hiding all the time. Like I’m this sad person who’s too afraid to do anything exciting! Or go for what she wants. So it’s been building for a while and then I went on that date with MacFarlane and Lars didn’t like it. Not one bit.”

“I assumed the animosity was team stuff. MacFarlane’s always calling him names and stuff?—”

“What names?”

“Narc-quist, Snitch-quist, the usual.”

“Oh.” Because of what happened with his father? Lars hadn’t told me. He was so close-chested about his dad and the impact it had on him. Hatch must have said something to Rosie.

“But he came to that club—with a baby—and rescued you.” Rosie wagged a finger. “And then you guys fell into bed. So sweet.”

“And now we’re going with the flow.” I tried to sound grown-up, a woman of the world.

She took a curl of my hair and twisted. “You’re not really a go with the flow kind of girl, are you? Casual isn’t your thing, despite all my efforts to get you some on our travels.”

“I knew you were going to be like this. It’s why I kept quiet.” But she was right. Casual sex wasn’t my jam. Growing up the daughter of Theo and Elle Kershaw set near-impossible expectations in the arena of love and relationships. Now the worst had happened.

My crush had bloomed into something more serious. I’d fallen in love with Lars Nyquist.

While catching my breath, I tried to put this in context. The amazing lover, the hunky single dad, the man who was learning to connect with others through the process of connecting with his child—all were reasons to be attracted to someone. To even want to see where it could go.

But I knew it could go nowhere, and still I was the fool who had fallen for this man, all because he saw in me potential I couldn’t yet see in myself.

Maybe there’s room for another bright star in the night sky.

My family encouraged and loved me despite all my weird, but there was the usual judgment there. Our history was too embedded for it to be any other way. With Lars, I saw myself through fresh eyes.

Rosie’s gaze softened. “Does he know about Greece?”

Preferring to talk about something concrete, I moved onto another of my least favorite topics. “Yes. I had a nightmare, and he was there to talk me down. He agrees with you and thinks I should tell the fam.”

“At least he’s getting one thing right. Is it possible you’re acting out to try to exert some control over a situation where you feel helpless? And this is taking the form of seducing second generation Finnish hockey players with more issues than a magazine stand and the words ‘No trespassing’ stamped on their forehead?”

This crazy bitch and her razor-sharp insights.

“Of course it’s possible! It’s entirely possible!”

Rosie smiled. “Aw, Addy.” And then she wrapped her arms around me. She gave such great hugs, and I really needed one, if only to confirm that she wasn’t mad at me.

At least she wasn’t accusing me of being in love with him. She would think I was too sensible for that nonsense.

“I’m pretending I know what I’m doing,” I whispered, “but I really don’t have a clue. If I keep saying I’m taking it one day at a time, then I don’t have to think about what comes next. Don’t judge me.”

“Never.” And then she hugged me tighter still.

ChapterTwenty-Five

Lars

Adeline was quieterthan usual on the way home from the party. I suspected performing in front of people and all the attention that yielded had worn her out. She went to great lengths to hide her light, which was easy to do when you were the introverted one in a family of sun-seekers.

While I put Mabel down, Adeline went to her room to shower and clean off her Zom-bee makeup. I’d loved getting my girls ready for the party, loved being wrapped up in that domestic ease. It reminded me of the more stable years of my youth, in particular, my dad’s short-lived marriage to Carla. She was the only woman in his life that I could recall doing normal family stuff—Halloween costumes, school lunches, cooking together. While the rest of Sven’s girlfriends floated through in skimpy bikinis and clouds of perfume, Carla had acted like a mom and tempered some of Sven’s worst traits.

I wanted that kind of stability for Mabel.

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