Page 5 of Owen Bailey Needs Advice

After watching me for confirmation, Owen shakes his head once more.

“Never?” Grammy bobbles her head like this is impossible news. “I’m not surprised she broke up with you.”

“No”—I point at Owen—“hebroke up withher.”

Grammy scoffs. “You’re so much better than…” She snaps and looks from a silent Owen to me. “Than…”

“Ah.” My brows furrow, thinking. “Jame—e.JamieButtman.”

“No.” Grammy shakes her head. “I told you, Buttman is not a name.” She returns her focus to Owen. “You’re so much better than this Jamie that you never introduced her to your mother? Your brothers?Never?”

Owen swallows down his bite in one large gulp. He shrugs as if his mouth were still full, holding him back from answering.

“No,” I say for him—for myself. “Not better. There just wasn’t the connection there should have been. So it made no sense for him—forher, for Jamie to talk about such things.”

“Do you need help finding a nice girl, Owen?” She wraps her iron grip around his forearm. “I could help you.”

“No!” And just like that—Owen finds his voice. “No. Thank you, Elsie, butno.”

My little Grammy stares at my best friend. “Annie will let me know when you change your mind. Okay?” She gives his back one more smack. “Okay.”

Owen’s lips screw to the side, and he nods. He’s smart not to argue with her. He’d lose.

We watch her as she snatches up her butter syrup and walks back to the kitchen, the door swinging behind her.

“Did James really talk aboutmarriage?” And my friend looks as horrified as I feel—and he didn’t even see theold hatexpression. How could James talk about the futureandlook at me that way?

More often than not, I fear that Maddox Powell had a point. Maybe I should have taken James up on his offer. Sure, he looked at me disapprovingly, but he still wanted to have that next-level talk.

No. No way. That’s the Maddox Powell refusing to leave my head talking.

I blow out a breath and answer my friend. “He implied. A lot. I wasn’t even that into him.” I puff out a breath. And I am certain he didn’t love me. “So, how could he jump there?”

“What I don’t understand,” Owen says, “is how we’ve been friends for fourteen years and this is the first time I’ve tried this syrup. How?”

“She doesn’t give it to just anyone.” I lift one shoulder with my defense. “It’s not even on the menu.”

“I’m not just anyone,” he says—and he isn’t wrong. Owen has been my person for more than fourteen years. I can’t imagine life without him.

But that doesn’t mean Grammy’s just gonna give up the good stuff. He isn’t her person.

“That’s true,” I say. “Now, can we please get back to the matter at hand? We’ve only got twenty minutes left until I have to return you to that hovel you call a home.”

“Hey,” he protests, but we don’t have time to argue about the fixer-upper he’s living in.

“Owen!”

“Right. Go on.”

“I write an advice column!” I moan.

His brows furrow like he’s confused.

“I regularly report on my podcast about my dedicated, thoughtful, researched, helpful, true advice.” My eyes fall to the bow and arrow tattoo on the inside of my right wrist.

“You’ve lost me. I thought we were here to talk about your breakup.”

“We are.” I give him a pointed stare. Stay with me, man! “Eighty-four percent of my readers send in questions about love.”

---