Page 81 of The Difference Between

Same as when I showed her how to precisely weigh the ingredients for baking sourdough and the color-coded spreadsheet I made for Mom’s appointments and recovery tasks.

She’s genuinely impressed by me for reasons outside of work and despite me having done nothing to help her with her lines.

Also, the dancing was fun.

It happened because I wanted to show Addie a video of Amanda and I from when we were young but got distracted by the tape end scribbled with Dancing Queens. I couldn’t not watch, and when Addie begged me to try, I couldn’t not say yes. It turns out, her superpower is getting me to do things I absolutely do not want to do.

And so, we danced—we were terrible—and because we were later than usual, Gavin showed up and witnessed the whole thing. This pleased everyone—especially my mother and Gavin.

“Don’t listen to her,” Mom says around bites. “She was laughing.”

Remy lets out an annoying aww and Rue gasps—I hate them both—then the conversation moves to Mom’s physical therapy appointments and the antique store, and my gaze drifts out the kitchen window to Gavin’s house.

Every time I’ve seen his truck at the shop—which has been daily this week—I’ve literally turned my body away from it.

But the turn doesn’t stop the pull.

To know him.

To be next to him.

To constantly remind myself that I would never enter into a business agreement that doesn’t have a future, and this is no different. I’m having a baby, he lives in Fontain, and we’re completely wrong for each other.

And still.

Every morning he’s sent me a terrible pun, today’s being Coffee gives me grounds for living, and every afternoon he’s thanked me for helping Addie.

I didn’t respond on Monday.

I didn’t respond on Tuesday.

I didn’t respond on Wednesday.

But today, his persistence wore me down enough I couldn’t not. Has anyone ever taught you how to take a hint?

Pretty sure I skipped school that day.

To nobody, I ask, “Do you think it’s weird when older women date younger men?” and it silences the kitchen.

Rue has a knowing look on her face that I want to shove down the garbage disposal, so I defer to Remy. There’s my next mistake because she’s smiling like a psycho. As is my mother.

“Never mind,” I mutter.

“You like him,” Remy says. Then squeals. “Reese likes Gavin.”

“I knew this was a mistake.” They cackle like a house of egg-constipated hens. “I was asking a question. I don’t like him. I’m just—” I suck my tongue against my teeth. “Trying to understand the situation.”

“I fell in love with a traveling substitute,” Rue admits easily. “And am trying to have another baby at almost forty-three. Pretty sure most of life’s a mindfuck.”

“Rue Fletcher,” Mom scolds around a mouthful of marmalade and cheese. “Your mouth is as filthy as Reese’s. And I knew you and Nash were right from the beginning, you just wouldn’t listen.”

Rue waves her off.

“You should just go out with him,” Remy says. “Once. Just to see. What’ll it hurt?”

“And then what?” I ask. “What if I see it’s . . .”

“Hot?” Rue fills in.