Page 86 of Red Flag, Green Light

“And if I do?” His gaze flicks toward me.

I reach for my own glass of chocolate milk. “I think I’d like to hear it while I’m already crying. Or…no. That’s not what I mean.I think I’d like to hear it. Because it’s yours. And I’d like to know you better.”

Setting his fork down, he says, “My mother liked carrot cake.”

“Liked?”

His eyes close. “Every birthday. Every holiday. I was young when she died, but I remember some things, and one of those things is carrot cake. Without raisins. With buttercream.” Pain creases his brow even as a fragile smile softens his lips. “She’d make them in the casserole dishes. Big flat sheets of cake that she’d throw icing on.” His lips press together, and when his eyes open again, they’re glassy with tears. “Carrot cake keeps her here. My own recipe, cake pans, and decorations keep it from hurting too much to think about how…I’m never going to getexactlyMom’s again.”

A teardrop slips down my cheek and falls into my plate. “Mars…I’m so sorry.”

He lifts a shoulder. “I love my mom. I miss her. Even though she’s gone, I am who I am because of her. I love how I love because I know how quickly love can be lost. I approach hesitantly, then steamroll. It’s a bad habit, rooted in fear. I… I would like to learn how to be better at it for you. But I’m just not there yet.”

Better? Better thanthis? I don’t know if that’s possible. “What happened…if it’s okay to ask?”

He fortifies himself with a deep breath and says, “She loved the ocean. The complexities. The mystery. The creatures. One anniversary when I was six, our father took her to a coral reef. And there she met a cone snail. She was dead in hours. Jove and I didn’t even know until it was too late to even say goodbye over the phone. Dad blamed himself. Both he and Jove grieved in a world separate from mine. I stained the shark picture books she used to read to me with my tears. They checked out of reality.Thankfully, Jove came back after a bit. Dad still…struggles. But we take care of him as best we can. I’m grateful every day that we have the means.”

I can’t find any words for a while, and when I finally open my mouth, my tongue is dry. “Is the animal enclosure we passed on the way to your room the other day yours? It was ocean-themed. With sharks.”

He exhales a laugh. “You saw that, huh?” He wets his lips. “That’s Gingerbread, my hamster. Jove seems to only tolerate her, but he did also put little red flags on her buoys recently, so…maybe he likes her more than he realizes.” Mars rolls his eyes. “Jove’s pretty bad at recognizing the depth of his feelings. Not that it inconveniences me at all or anything.”

I sense that it does, actually.

Clearing his throat, Mars wipes his eyes. “Anyway. Now that we’re both crying…why don’t we get this party started?”

Obviously, that’s code for “curl up in my living room with books,” and I think—tears and all—it’s the best party I’ve ever been to.

Chapter Twenty-four

The girlies want Pushup Princes just as badly as they want Flag Day.

Mars

My dear, dear,dearbrother…really savedthisnews for our Tuesday meeting?

Really?

He cannot be flagging serious. And, yet, of course he is. Of. Course. He. Is.

I’ve known him my entire life. I don’t know why I let things like this surprise me anymore.

Smiling, I close our meeting agenda book so the crescent moon on the cover can smile up at me. “You’re fake dating Lyra Gold?”Fake. Fake! Because of course it’s “fake.”

Jovey, please. I know you’re a workaholic, but could you leave the tropes in our books where they belong? Real life should bereal. You should be real dating the woman you’ve been unknowingly in love with for over half your life.

What are we doing?

Perfectly calm, Jove nods, messing with his pocket knife. “For research.”

Clarifying.

I fold my hands together atop my agenda notebook. “Of course. What else would it be for?” Love? Ha. As if. Let’s not get ridiculous. “I assume you’ve already drafted your fake dating contract?”

Jove frowns, clearly frustrated that he forgot one of the mostimportant steps in his research endeavors. Or clearly thinking,Uh…my what?But. Semantics.

I tut. “Oh, Jovey, Jovey, Jovey…”

“Uh,” he mutters. “Do I…need that? I only have three days before date night.”

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