Page 77 of Owen Bailey Needs Advice

“Drop the experiment? Absolutely not. Annie, we have doubled our online views for the week in the last thirty minutes alone. Your livestream is set to go viral. We’re rolling with this. You’re adding yourself to that experiment. Pronto.”

“Pronto? Wait.” I pull in a breath, trying not to hyperventilate. I put Margo on speaker and drop my phone into my lap, then grab the steering wheel with both hands, squeezing until my fingers are stark white, the tips pink and full of blood. “What do you mean rolling with this?”

“You and Owen. Together, you can try out all of your advice—firsthand is better anyway—and then report on it.”

My mouth has dropped, and a strange hum escapes it, but I’m not sure how to make it stop. I’m not even sure I’ll ever be able to close it up or speak again.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Margo says, ending the call for both of us.

Kayla stands on the sidewalk, a shawl draped around her shoulders, her head dipped so that she can see into the vehicle. Once I make eye contact, she walks around to my driver’s side door.

I open the door, and the cool evening air washes over my face—waking me up and reminding me that this isn’t a dream.

“That was my editor,” I say to Kayla—she was going to askanyhow. My brows raise. “Shelovedthe live stream. She can’t wait for Owen and me to practice all of my advice.” I swallow past the painful lump in my throat.

Kayla’s eyes are slits; she doesn’t know what to say any more than I know what I want to hear. She lets out the breath she’s been holding and nods. “Come inside, sweetie.”

38

Owen

Istand on Miles’ doorstep. “Did you listen? Did you hear?”

His hazel eyes resemble UFO saucers at the moment—good reaction, right? “Uh, yep.”

“How was it? Was it good? Was it romantic? How’d she sound?”

The saucers blink. “Ah…how did she sound to you?” Miles runs a hand through the curls of his short brown hair.

“Confused. Unsure.” I puff out a breath. “Miles, did I screw everything up?” For the first time since making the decision to announce myself live on the internet, I’m feeling unsure.

“Sit,” says my brother, moving to the side to let me in.

I step inside the tiny living quarters attached to Miles’ studio—the man lives directly above the gallery that sells his watercolors. He’s living his dream every second of the day.

I clench my jaw and bounce on my toes—not sitting.

Miles is just a month shy of being two years my elder. But his sober, quiet ways have always made him feel much more my senior. “Your truth is out there,” he says. “Are you glad?”

“I think so.” I pace back and forth over the hardwood floor of his living space. “It felt really good to tell her.”

“Good. Focus on that.” He shoves his hands into his pockets, his eyes glossy on the ground. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never felt that way about a woman. But I think living a lie would be painful.”

“A lie?” I’ve never felt like I was lying. But then, I have been keeping this big truth to myself for so long.

“Do you need a drink?” he says, walking into the section of his tiny apartment that he refers to as the kitchen. He snags two sodas from the mini refrigerator and sets one in front of me.

“What do I do now, Miles? I can’t force her to go out with me. I can’t make her marry me.”

“Marriage?” The saucers are back. Maybe they aren’t a sign of approval. “Whoa. Kind of jumping the gun, aren’t we?”

“It might have come up.”

“Owen,” he says. “Are you kidding?Marriage—like forever, ‘I dos’, holy vows?”

“She’s the one who brought it up. I just said I wouldn’t be opposed to marrying her.”

Miles runs a hand over his eyes. He sits across from me and leans his head back against the back of his recliner. “Maybe just ask her out. Go on a date first.”

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