Page 4 of One and Only

I pulled my phone out and saw two more missed calls from Poppy and a text from an unknown number.

Unknown: It’s Parker’s friend, Beckett. I’m running a couple of minutes behind, but I’ll be there.

I didn’t answer because Rocco set a small plate of bruschetta in front of me.

“Bless you,” I told him. I demolished two before my phone rang again.

When I saw my little sister’s name, I glanced at my watch to check the time, then hit the button to answer the call. Before I could even say a word, she was talking over me.

“Where are you? I just stopped at your apartment and you’re not here.”

“It’s a Saturday night. Aren’t I allowed to be gone?”

“You never go out on the weekends,” she said. “You’re either at your place or home.”

“That is categorically false,” I told her. “I do things all the time and don’t tell you. Besides, why are you stalking me at my apartment?”

“Erm, just dropping something off.”

At her tone, I narrowed my eyes. “Dropping what off?”

“That blue sweater.”

“You mean the blue sweater you said you didn’t borrow when I asked how it disappeared from my closet?”

Poppy was quiet for a moment. “Yes?”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m in Portland for a couple of days.”

“Why?”

Hopefully finding someone who will pretend to marry me for financial compensation because I didn’t know how else to feel in control of a very uncontrollable situation.

I cleared my throat. “Meetings.”

“Are you seeing Parker?”

At the mention of our brother’s name, I snorted. “No. He’s still playing hard to get, but he texted the other day to see if I’d do a favor for one of his teammates.” I glanced at the face of my watch. “He should be here any minute for our initial design consult.”

“Oooh. Which teammate?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.” Poppy laughed. “You’re not even a little interested in who you’re meeting?”

I toed off my heel under the table and arched my foot, groaning at the stretch after wearing them all day. “Of course I’m interested in who I’m meeting, but also … it doesn’t really matter, you know?”

She sighed, one of those little sister sighs that made me feel like I was old and beyond help in her eyes.

“What?” I asked. “I’m just helping him with a design for his daughter’s room, and that’s it. It doesn’t really matter to me who he is or what he does.”

“Oooh, a daughter. So he’s one of the unmarried ones.”

“How on earth do you know that?” Despite the bruschetta, my stomach was still grumbling unhappily. I took another bite.

“If he was married, or dating, his significant other would help with the room, wouldn’t they?”

“I suppose,” I said, words muffled through the food in my mouth.

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