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“Finnegan!”
“Hello, Mrs. Weaver.” She squeezes me, hugging my neck with surprising strength for a woman her age.
“So good to see you again,” she says, stepping back. She looks between Nic and me. “New boyfriend?”
I only manage to stammer sounds that aren’t words. Nic laughs.
“I’m late,” he says, stepping into the elevator and pushing a button. “Good to see you, Alex. See you at home, Finnegan.” He winks. The bastard actually winks at me. The elevator doors snick shut before I can think up a decent comeback.
I glare at the door, then realize what else he’d said. “You know him?” I ask Alex. He holds up his hands in defense.
“We’ve done some volunteering work together,” he says. “And I know he’s done some work for Sizzle. I didn’t realize you two knew each other.” Alex says “knew” in the Biblical sense. I can tell.
“He’s adorable,” says Mrs. Weaver. “You’d do well to put a ring on it, and quick, young man.”
I sputter again, and Alex just about chokes on the laugh he’s trying to suppress.
“He’s my next-door neighbor,” I say finally. Mrs. Weaver looks so disappointed I don’t even bother explaining I’m straight.
She sighs. “Well. Can’t win them all. Anyway, I’ve got to run, boys. I’m late for my class. I just ran upstairs to say hello to Joelle.” She kisses Alex on the cheek, then me. She hugs me again, harder this time. When she lets me go, she grabs my chin and looks me right in the eye. “I’m glad you’re back in town,” she says. “If you need anything, you call me, you hear? Anything at all.”
It occurs to me that of all the other people in the world who know and might care what day it is, she’s one of them.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, swallowing hard. “Thank you.”
Alex is watching me as she leaves. “I’d forgotten what day it is,” he says finally. “I’m sorry, Finn.”
“Not your fault,” I say. “We don’t have to talk about it.”
“I think we maybe do.”
“Coffee first,” I say. We take my car to the Market Street Market, because it’s the best coffee in town.
We talk about everything and nothing. He tells me about married life—the G-rated parts, anyway—and I admit I still haven’t talked to Callie lately.
“That’s not right,” he says. “Especially not today.”
“I know.”
“She’s your sister. Your twin sister.”
I just look at him.
“Yeah, I know you know, and I am on your side,” he says. “Always. But don’t you think it’s time to get past this?”
“That’s pretty much what Sully said.”
“Smart man,” says Alex.
I’m tempted to throw a sugar packet at him, but we’re not fourteen anymore, so I manfully refrain.
“I get it,” he says. “I’m not going to nag you about it. But I think, today of all days, you ought to reconsider what you’re doing.”
Before I can argue with that, he puts up both his hands to ward me off. “And anyway, I’d rather talk about you and Nic.” He wags his eyebrows, and the subject of Callie is mercifully dropped.
I let him make his jokes. It’s the best hour of my week, bar none. When he leaves—“Because some of us have actual jobs”—I’m left to my own thoughts. I climb in my truck, crank the heat, and head home, no closer to a solution than I was when I left this morning.
At least, no closer to a solution I like. But, like it or not, I owe my sister an apology. And Weston. And Lee.
