Page 25 of Just Friends

I give his shoulder a firm shove. “You’re the worst.”

His grin is hypnotic, numbing my senses, and contagious enough to make the corners of my own mouth lift too. This feelsright. Bad dates with strangers will be worth it if we get to end up in the car together at the end of the night, sugar and cream melting on our tongues.

“New dates next week, then,” I say, scooping out another spoonful of my minty concoction. I slide my eyes across the console. “Unless you want to go out with Chloe again.”

I hold my breath, unsure of why nerves are creeping up my esophagus as I wait on his response.

“She was nice,” Alex says and pauses. My stomach knots further. “But I don’t think it was a love match.”

“You can’t know that after one date.” I’m not sure why I say it.

His eyebrows lift. “Do youwantme to go out with Chloe again?”

“No,” It comes out before I can think. Retreating, I say, “I mean, you can if you want to, butIdon’t want you to.”

That intensity from the bathroom returns to his face, and I have to force myself not to look away.

“I don’t want to go out with Chloe again,” he says finally, and I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

“Okay. New dates, then.”

“New dates,” he agrees.

I’mputtingthefinishingtouches on a butterfly painting on Monday afternoon when my phone vibrates on the countertop, the loud buzzing echoing over the sound of the folk band vinyl playing on my vintage record player. I wipe my hands on my overalls and dash into the kitchen, but I still manage to end up with an orange paint smear on my phone case. I’m wetting a paper towel as I swipe the phone open and my mom’s face fills the screen.

“Hey, honey!” she yells, loud enough that if I had neighbors, they would have heard it.

“Hey, Mom,” I say, trying to wipe the paint off my phone.

“Look who brought me treats.” She tries and fails to flip the camera around, and I hear laughter on the other end before two new faces show up on the screen.

My lips split in a smile as I look at my two best friends since childhood, my cousin Stevie and the only neighbor we had within a mile on our old country road, Wren.

“Hey, guys.”

“What have you been doing today, Hazel Girl?” Mom asks as I wipe the last bit of paint from my phone case.

The chill of the granite countertop seeps through my overalls as I lean my back against it, holding the phone out in front of me. “I finally finished this big project I’ve been working on, so I took the rest of the afternoon off, and I’ve been painting. What are you all doing together?”

“I just brought your mom a slice of cake from this new recipe I tried out,” Stevie says.

Wren pushes a ginger curl behind her ear. “And I’m here trying to help your mom do some stocking and inventory before her surgery in a few weeks.”

“Speaking of,” Mom says, snatching the phone back and setting it on the counter so I can see all of them, “I’ve decided I don’t want to wait to see you until then.”

A laugh sputters out of me. “You just saw me at the wedding last weekend.”

“But we didn’t get to spend any time together,” she whines, sounding like a toddler who was just told she couldn’t have ice cream before dinner. “And when you come stay after my surgery, you’ll be mostly working in the shop for me.”

My mom is having sinus surgery in a few weeks and won’t be able to run her shop on my aunt and uncle’s farm, and since summer is the start of the busy season, she can’t just close it while she recovers. I’ll be coming down to stay for the first few weeks of her recovery to run the store while my dad takes care of her.

“This is true,” I agree, pushing off the counter and moving into the living room. I flop down onto my worn leather couch and tuck my legs up under me. I’d be worried about paint transfer if it weren’t already flecked with color, like a disco ball sending shards of light all over it. “Okay, when do you want to see me?”

A grin dances across her face, the same one she uses when she’s trying to talk someone into something without them knowing. “I was thinking you could come for Trail Days.”

Trail Days. My heart warms justthinkingabout the festival in my hometown. Fontana Ridge is a tiny speck on the map, right off the Appalachian Trail. I spent my childhood riding in the back seat of my parents’ station wagon while they picked up hitchhikers to give them a lift to the town square, listening to stories of grand adventures, and writing them down in my notebook so I could look up the images on the family computer at home and paint them.

“Bring Cam and Ellie too,” Mom adds.

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