Page 13 of Red Flag, Green Light

My eye twitches. “Joveneeds a Flag Day festival, for reasons.”

“Not exactly forthcoming with information, are you?”

“You don’t want to help a little brother do something nice for his big brother?” Surely this statement isn’t coercion. It’s manipulation, definitely, but it’s notcoercion, right?

Unfazed, Ceres says, “Not even a little bit.”

Ah, well.

“Why do you even need my help?” she asks.

“I need a face for the project. People don’t trust me, or like me.”

“For somewhat valid reasons, I hear.”

I straighten, insecurities prickling. “The reasons aren’t valid.” And what’s she doing listening to hearsay, anyway? That, right there, is rude.

“Anyone who slights you gets their tires slashed, or their car keyed, or a tree on their house.”

I scoff. Jovey’s never dropped a tree on anyone’shouse. Usually, it’s just the sheds. But that’s not the point. “If you behave poorly, there is karma.” I clear my throat. “For unrelated reasons—that don’t validatethesereasons you speak of at all—this is kind of exactly why I need your help. If I approach a florist, and they’re rude, they could lose their business. Ifyouapproach a florist on my behalf, they won’t even be rude, because you’re a little goddess, and everyone loves you.”

I am flirting.

Ceres grimaces.

I am flirting…unsuccessfully.

Heaving another breath, she crosses her arms. “I don’t like talking to people.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” Because Idon’tmonitor you twenty-four-seven, and I have not once followed you to Walmart on your shopping days, just to bike past your car while you’re waiting in a pickup spot… Ahem. I’ve done that eight times. In three years. Which is perfectly exemplar willpower, if I do say so myself. And it has nothing to do with the fact I occasionally convince myself she’s going to get in a car crash, and I’ll never see her again. “We’re having a lovely conversation right now, aren’t we? Surely you can do this, with goals and intention, a few dozen more times?”

“I so utterly would rather die.”

My stomach knots. “That doesn’t work for me.”

She slumps, self-preservation levels depleting ever further. “Can’t you con someone else into helping you?”

“There’s no con. And I’m not sure you understand the situation. I don’twantto ‘con’ someone into helping me. Yes or no, Ceres. You are thoroughly calm around me, even under these circumstances, so answer me outright, and make it therightanswer.”

She lifts a precious shoulder garbed in a frilly sleeve. “I could take you.”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

“You’re scrawny.”

My brows rise. “What?” I look at myself. Tall, broad, toned. I work out. I bikeeverywhere. Even my wrists have muscles, for throwing cards, obviously. My arms might be modest, but they’re well proportioned enough. I think. “I’m…not, though?”

Her head lolls away from me, toward her sliding glass doorand the wealth of plants overwhelming her yard. “Well, I guess not, but compared to your brother…”

My eye twitches, again, and I scoot to the edge of the couch cushion. “Listen, it’s unfair to compare me to Jovey. He’s atank. Broad shoulders can still be broad when you don’t have to walk sideways through doorways.”

“Can they though?” She lets her darling nose wrinkle. “Can theyreally?”

This woman. She’s going to give me a complex. As though I’m not already dealing with enough mental health conditions.

“I’m just saying. Sometimes you’re named after a Roman god…but you’re not built like a Greek one. And that is totally okay.” Her eyes close. “No shame. But I could take you.”

I’m putting whey protein in my next batch of carrot cake and I’m putting myself on a strictshouldersroutine. If Jovey’s got them, they’re in my genes. Surely. I will unlock them for the woman I love.

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