Page 32 of A Perfect Match
"I know what I'm doing," I insist, but my voice sounds weaker than I'd like.I look to Mom for support, but she just gives me one of those noncommittal mom looks, the ones that say “I'm staying out of this” without actually saying it.
"Great," I mutter."So you all think I'm an idiot."
"We didn't say that," Dane says quickly.
"You didn't have to."
The familiar feeling washes over me—being the baby sister, the one who's never quite trusted to make her own decisions.The one who needs four surrogate fathers checking her every move.
"Piper," Griffin starts, his voice softening."We're just concerned—"
"I'm twenty-eight years old," I cut him off."I run a successful business.I make my own decisions."
"Of course you do, sweetheart," Mom finally chimes in."Your brothers are just being protective, as usual."
"We've seen these shows," Jett argues."They're trash.They make everyone look bad."
"Well, I guess you'll just have to tune in and see," I say, trying for nonchalance but landing somewhere in the territory of petulant child."Can we please just play cards now?"
The game resumes, but the air is thick with unspoken tension.I win again, but it doesn't feel good this time.It’s not the victory I really wanted.
Three hands later, I bow out, claiming a headache.It's not entirely untrue—my temples are throbbing from the effort of holding back my frustration.
"I'm going to head home," I say, slipping on my coat."Early day tomorrow."
Mom walks me to the door."Don't be too hard on them," she says softly."They love you."
"I know," I sigh."But loving me and respecting me as an adult are two different things."
She kisses my cheek."For what it's worth, I think you're more than capable of handling a reality show.And if this new landlord tries anything fishy, you'll put him in his place."
I smile weakly."Thanks, Mom."
The ride back to Griffin's house is exactly what I need—cool lake air in my face, the physical exertion of pedaling, the quiet of the tree-lined residential streets.By the time I arrive, some of my anger has subsided, replaced by a nagging doubt.
Maybe they’re right…which is exactly what I’ve been avoiding my entire life.What if I did make a stupid decision?What if the producer is just going to paint me as some annoying little pest for conflict, and I'm going to end up looking like an idiot on national television?
I store my bike in the garage, shut the door, and head inside.Griffin won't be home for at least another hour, which means I have the place to myself.
I should shower.I should call my cousin Bella to talk through this quagmire I’ve found myself in.I should go over the week's orders on my tablet.
But I don’t want to do any of those things.
Instead, I find myself wandering into the backyard.I know what I want…and it’s the one thing I shouldn’t go after.As soon as I’m outside, I can smell something cooking, unique and savory, such a blend of smells that I can’t quite place a single ingredient.
Anticipation scorches through me.Through the thinning bushes and the gaps in the chain link fence, I can see movement in the yard behind Griffin's.A familiar silhouette stands at a grill, spatula in hand.The glow of the flames highlights the sharp angles of his jaw, the broad span of his shoulders.He's in a simple T-shirt and jeans, looking unfairly hot for someone just casually grilling on a Wednesday night.
Kru.
Hunger cracks open inside me, but not for food.I can’t stop thinking about the conversation we had in his restaurant.
I should go inside.I really should.
But my feet carry me closer to the fence, like there's some kind of magnetic pull between us.I'm trying to get a better view when my foot catches on something—probably the roots of that rose bush coming to claim my pants this time—and I stumble, grabbing the fence for support.
The fence jangles loudly.
Kru's head snaps up, eyes scanning the darkness until they land on me.A slow, knowing smile spreads across his face.
