Page 123 of The Trouble with Flings

“Wells, you just got lucky last year,” Fitz says.

“If it’s all about getting lucky, then we know you’ll never win.” Wells snickers.

My competitive—protective?—urges rise to the surface, and I say, “Fitz gets lucky all the time. At least in the ways that matter most.”

More laughter and taunts ring out.

God, I love this.

All of it.

The easy friendships. The history between them. The way they tease each other relentlessly while somehow making me feel like I’m part of it, instead of an outsider looking in. Like last night and the morning before at the coffee shop. Being here is like stepping into another world, where friends matter, where people don’t rush through conversations to get to the next thing, because getting together with friends is the priority, not an inconvenience.

I haven’t viewed life through that lens since I was a kid living on Long Island. I’ve been so busy walling myself off and blazing my path, I never realized how much I was missing.

“There you are!” A petite brunette with big brown eyes and cherubic cheeks bursts through the crowd looking like she walked off the pages of a fashion magazine in a pale-green-and-white printed clingy belly-baring crop top with ruffled sleeves and a square neckline, a matching maxi skirt, strappy sandals, and a wrist full of bangles. “I’ve been looking all over for you guys. Sorry I’m late. I had to do an Easter podcast and then video my Easter reel, and I kept messing up—” Her eyes land on me, and she stops midsentence. “Hi, I’m Bellamy, Fitz’s favorite sister. You must be Jennifer.”

“I am. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Right? I can’t believe you’ve been here all weekend and this is the first time we’re meeting.” She eyes Fitz teasingly. “Brotherly fail.”

“It’s not like I’m hiding her, Bell. You could’ve gone to Brant and Cait’s last night.”

“I wish I could have, but I had a gig,” Bellamy says as she looks me up and down. “I can’t wait to get to know you, but first, where did you get that dress?”

With my expanding body, I had to get creative with my outfits to find something minimizing. Mia and I went shopping last week and found this navy V-neck dress with a white floral pattern, crisscross bodice, and the perfect length flowy skirt that falls just above my knees, giving the illusion of a smaller waist.

“I got it at this great shop in the city called Cloak and Dagger.”

“I love that store,” Victory says.

“They’re always on-trend,” Leni says.

“I feel a girl trip coming on!” Jules calls out.

“Yes!” Bellamy cheers. “I can do a whole shopping series!”

Keira leans closer to me and says, “Better nip that in the bud, or you’ll end up with an apartment full of Silver Island girls for the weekend.”

Normally even the idea of having one extra person I don’t know very well in my apartment would annoy me, but strangely…this doesn’t. But still, the reality is that I don’t have room for guests. “My apartment is about as big as a bread box.”

“That’s okay,” Jules says. “We don’t take up much space.”

Before I can respond, Mayor Osten’s voice booms through the loudspeaker. “Attention, friends! Children, find your grown-ups and get those baskets ready! The hunt will begin shortly.”

Cheers and excitement rise around us, and we head over to the pavilion. I see Fitz’s father cutting through the crowd, heading past the pavilion toward the office and restrooms, flanked by Roddy and Steve, all three of them wearing their Joni-assigned animal ears and grinning like they’re the keepers of the world’s best secret.

Which I’d agree with, if not for the secret Fitz and I are keeping.

Their grown children come from every direction, peeling away from conversations, ducking out of groups, cutting across the lawn. Within two minutes the three families have assembled beside the pavilion. Fitz squeezes my hand. He and his friends are giving each other glaring warnings and challenges.

“I feel like we should be placing bets,” I say to Victory.

“No kidding,” she says. “They’re practically foaming at the mouth.”

Alexander clears his throat and says, “Every year we do this, and every year your mothers tell us we’ve gone too far.” He glances at Margot, who raises her eyebrows in confirmation. “This year they might be right.”

Laughter rings out.