Page 54 of The Love Operation

I nod once. “Good man.”

He gestures toward the door. “But you might want to hurry before the crossbow murderer tires of waiting and leaves.”

I trap my tongue between my lips, turning toward the door. Whoever is on the other side better have a damn good reason for interrupting my evening.

I take two steps—then stop.

The air in my lungs feels different. My pulse, suddenly louder.

Because . . . I’m screwed.

Somewhere during this evening, I went from risk assessment to just wanting more time with Isaac.

I like him.

I really like him.

And I don’t want this to be the last night we spend together.

In fact . . . I don’t want this to end at all.

Chapter 12

FaceTimed and Forgotten

“We should’ve called,” Maggie mutters to Everett the second I open the door and she sees my face.

I muscle a smile onto my lips. “So good to see you guys! To what do I owe the surprise?” I think I’m pulling off happy until Everett rolls his eyes and steps past me like he owns the place.

“You don’t need to pretend,” he says.

“I’m not pretending,” I lie, my smile aching like a pulled muscle.

He presses his lips into a line. “You look like a feral raccoon wearing a let’s-all-get-along mask.”

“Everett!” Maggie squeaks, genuine outrage on her face.

Unfortunately, he’s not wrong. Well, hopefully, I don’t look feral, but I’m definitely not thrilled to see them right now. Still, what kind of person opens the door and says, How horrible to see you. Now leave. Everett, that’s who.

The brother: Everett Wren. Thirty-one. Brand consultant.

Chief identifying characteristics: Youngest-born energy. Magnetic. Strategic. Insightful. Blunt. Doesn’t tolerate fluff, dishonesty, or inefficiency. Wins the crowd with his humor, but only if he feels like it. Visionary to the core. Thinks in taglines. A trendsetter without trying. If he’s waiting in line, he’s mentally redesigning every marketable thing around him. Head often in the clouds. Feet never are. Soft spots? Peanut M&Ms. Always has a bag on his person or within arm’s reach. Lets his daughter do his makeup—and wears it unapologetically, even to meetings.

Physical exam: Tall, lean biracial male. Wild, messy dark curls. Clean-shaven baby face that makes him look both younger and more dangerous than he is. Always wearing some ridiculous print or eyeball-searing color you didn’t know existed.

Impression: Highly intelligent. Stylish. Vision driven. Talks fast, thinks faster. Exists in two modes: (1) Life of the party, (2) Brooding inside his own head—absent, even when he’s standing right in front of you.

The sister: Margaret “Maggie” Wren-Kaplan. Thirty-four. Stay-at-home mom. Middle child.

Chief identifying characteristics: Met her husband in med school, then dropped out to build a family. Supermom. Homeschools. Schedules. Sourdoughs. Makes it all look effortless. Smart and wildly capable, but like Everett, has nothing to prove. Hates conflict—mediates the hell out of every problem. A master at making people feel at ease. Adaptable. Balance-obsessed. Her one vice? Shopping. If dopamine had a checkout counter, she’d have Platinum Elite status. A fashionista who doles out style advice like vaccinations. Curates everything—her home, her wardrobe, her life—with suspicious ease. Can find the perfect gift for anyone, based on three facts and a vibe.

Physical exam: A carbon copy of our mother—everyone says so—with a lighter biracial complexion.

Impression: A well-dressed problem solver who prefers the scenic route in life. Pinterest-worthy. Can’t stand it if someone’s mad at her—except me. Solves most problems with a hug and a homemade dessert.

“Fine,” I say, not even sure why I lied in the first place. “Your timing isn’t great.”

“Then we’ll come back later,” Maggie says quickly, throwing Everett a look. It was probably her idea to come, but she’d take any excuse to leave.