Page 8 of One Week Wingman

“Listen, Rox,” he says, clearing his throat. “I’m glad I ran into you.”

“I’m glad, too,” I say, meaning it. “We should grab a drink and catch-up.”

“Yeah, about that.” Jason pauses again, looking a little uncomfortable. “We’ll definitely be seeing more of each other, it’s just—”

“Roxy!”

My sister, Daisy, flies through the diner doors and launches herself at me in a hug. “I’m so happy you’re here!” she squeals, her blonde hair braided up in a halo around her cherubic face. She beams at me. “And you’ve already heard the good news?”

“About painting the bandstand? Sure,” I joke, sending Jason a private grin.

But he just shifts, avoiding my gaze.

“I didn’t want to tell you over the phone,” Daisy continues breathlessly. “Something like this, it needed to be face time, you know? And not, like, FaceTime. But I’m so happy everything’s out in the open. Can you believe it, after all this time?”

“Believe what?” I ask, totally confused. And then I see it:

Daisy is holding Jason’s hand. And gazing up at him in adoration.

And going up on her tiptoes to plant a slow, sizzling kiss on his mouth.

Daisy finally draws back from their make-out, still glowing with excitement. And if I hadn’t gotten a clue from the PDA, her next words confirm it:

“Jason and I are in love!”

3

ROXY

“Daisy is dating Jason?!”I wail, as soon as I’m through the door ofThe Tipsy Bookshelf,the bookstore-slash-café-slash-wine bar Nita inherited from her aunt.

She looks up from behind the register, her long, dark hair caught up in a bun on the top of her head with two pencils sticking through it. “What?!” Nita screeches, her voice echoing all the way past the New Fiction display.

“You heard me.” I go collapse at the counter. “Coffee me. No, wine me. I need to blot out the memory of his hands on her ass. Her ass,” I repeat with a moan. “My ex-boyfriend had his hands on my little sister’s ass!”

“She’s twenty-five,” Nita points out. “That’s not exactly little anymore.”

“You’re defending this?” I cry in horror.

“Absolutely not.” Nita pulls down a bottle of wine and pours me a glass, her wrists clattering with the armfuls of bangles she loves to wear. “Now, breathe, drink, and tell me everything.”

I gulp the rosé and begin to feel more like myself again. The shock of this new development is fading now, leaving behind total disbelief. “Are they serious?” I ask. “How did this even happen? How long has it been going on?”

“All good questions,” Nita says, grabbing the bottle and gently steering me over to the big leather Chesterfield couch by the windows. “Which you might have to ask them.”

I sink back in the cushions with a sigh and look around the familiar bookshelves and mismatched café tables. Despite everything, it’s good to be back here. This was always my favorite place in town. Growing up, I would hide out here for hours, just reading, then when Nita took over, she added the wine bar and delicious snacks, and now it’s even more perfect. Cozy, and comforting, with a side of rosé.

And after what I’ve just witnessed, I am in definite need of comfort. And booze.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her, glancing over. “I promise, I want to hear everything about what you’ve been up to. I’m just… in shock right now.”

“Obviously.” Nita pours herself a glass and watches me, wide-eyed in delight. “This is major. Major gossip,” she says with relish.

I give a groan of a laugh. “Glad my trauma is entertaining you.”

“Appreciate it, babe.” She pats my hand.

“I just can’t get my head around it,” I say. “I just bumped into him—literally—in the market, and all those old memories came rushing back.”

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