Page 60 of Enchanted to Meet You

I dragged my wet hair into a ponytail, pulled myself together as best I could, and walked downstairs. Rhys was standing in the kitchen, leaning against the marble island, staring intently at his phone. He looked entirely composed, but when he heard my footsteps, his head snapped up instantly.

His eyes tracked me as I walked down the last few steps, dropping briefly to the absurdly oversized clothes engulfing my frame, before snapping back to my face. The tense, dark look was gone, replaced by a carefully constructed mask of indifference—though the slight flush at the top of his neck betrayed him.

“You look like you’re wearing a parachute,” he said, offering a weak, tentative smirk.

“That’s in fashion,” I retorted, clutching my bag tightly to cover the nervousness threatening to break through my voice. “Let’s just go.”

The drive to the gym was entirely silent, but it wasn’t the comfortable silence of earlier. It was thick, heavy, and packed with everything we weren’t saying. Every time Rhys shifted gears, my eyes flew to his hands. Every time he glanced in the rearview mirror, I caught the sharp side-profile of his face and felt a ridiculous, fluttering panic in my stomach.

And the whole agonizingly long drive to the gym, my mind kept flitting back to that look on his face outside the bathroom, the buzzing that never seemed to leave my body, and why this afternoon was going to be melded in my mind forever.

seventeen

The zipper on my duffel bag was fighting me, but I refused to let it win.

I tugged on the brass pull with both hands, my knees braced against the edge of my mattress, gritting my teeth as the zipper jammed against a thick fleece sweater I was fifty percent sure I wouldn’t even need.

“You’re packing like you’re being deployed to the tundra,” Imogen said from her perch on my desk chair. She was leaning dangerously close to the mirror, my favorite berry-toned lip gloss in hand, carefully applying a second coat with practiced precision. “Carling Beach in May isn’t the Arctic Circle, Ainsley. It’s like twenty-five degrees and sunny.”

“The weather app said it drops to ten at night near the water,” I grumbled, giving the zipper one last violent yank. It slid home with a satisfying thwack. “And I’ve heard cottage people like to leave windows open at night, and I’m not freezing to death for the sake of fresh air.”

Imogen turned on the stool, smacking her lips together to spread the gloss, her eyes sparkling with that familiar sisterly intuition that always made my pulse do a nervous little dance. I hated lying to any of my siblings, but I hated lying to her the most. I still remembered how much it hurt when she admitted to me that she’d been seeing Dad behind my back for months. Would she be as equally hurt when she found out that I’d been fake dating Rhys Montgomery behind her back?

In my own defense, I didn’t think hiding a fake relationship was all that terrible. It wasn’t like I was hiding a real boyfriend from her. But it didn’t stop the gnawing guilt every time I lied about where I was going or who I was with. Case in point—telling her I’d decided at the last minute to accept Clementine’s invitation to visit her cottage this weekend, because it was the best lie I could come up with for where I’d be when I was actually at Rhys’s cottage.

“Still,” Imogen said, tossing the lip gloss back into my organizer and reaching straight for my high-end highlighter palette—the one I specifically hid behind my moisturizer because she was obsessed with it and never bought her own. “It’s three days. You have like four sweaters, six bathing suits, and I’m pretty sure I saw you throw some winter boots in there. Are you sure you’re just staying at Clementine’s, or are you secretly launching a survivalist compound?”

My fingers twitched on the strap of my bag. A familiar, uncomfortable lump settled right at the base of my throat—heavy, cold, and tasting distinctly like guilt. The lie had seemed like a good one in theory. Clementine was the only one of my friends who knew about Rhys—although she’d stuck to her promise and hadn’t asked me any questions about that car ride in the week since it happened—and she’d given us an open invitation to come to her cottage anytime this summer. It even meant that I didn’t even have to hide my location from my friends’ phones because I would be in the exact town they thought I should be, just at a different cottage than they thought. And Clementine had been more than happy to agree to cover for me, although I had a feeling I would need to give her some more answers about what was going on pretty soon.

“It’s just Clem’s,” I lied, the words coming out smooth and practiced, though my stomach turned a tight, unpleasant knot. “And I just want to be prepared! Everyone says this is the beginning of cottage season but that doesn’t mean it’s warm.”

“Fair point,” Imogen conceded, dusting a shimmering coat of champagne-colored highlighter over her cheekbones. She turned her head side-to-side, admiring the reflection. “I feel like a disco ball. But a cute one.”

I forced a small, easy laugh, tossing my duffel onto the floor by my bedroom door.

The guilt, however, refused to be tossed away so easily.

Lying to my family was nothing new over the last two weeks—I’d lied about where I went whenever I was out with Rhys, lied about why he talked to me in public, and lied about where I was going this weekend. But lying to Imogen was different. We were twins. We had spent fourteen years sharing a bedroom, and sixteen sharing clothes and sharing an unspoken language built on raised eyebrows and subtle scoffs.

“Hey,” Imogen said, snapping me out of my downward spiral. She was holding up a tiny, glittery tub of liquid eyeshadow I’d forgotten I even owned. “Can I borrow this? Cole said his aunt wants to take us all out to that fancy steakhouse on Saturday night.”

“Take it,” I said, leaning against my desk and crossing my arms. “Just don’t lose the cap like you did with my mascara last month.”

“I didn’t lose it, it fell behind the radiator,” she argued, tossing the shadow into her own canvas makeup pouch.

“I think that might be worse.”

She looked up at me, her expression softening into something warm and sweet. “I’m bummed we’re not hanging out this weekend, though. It feels like we haven’t had a proper sister night in weeks.”

The lump in my throat doubled in size.

“I know,” I murmured, staring down at the pattern of the rug beneath my socks. “Things have just been so busy lately.”

“Busy with what?” Imogen teased, hopping off the vanity stool and grabbing a stack of folded T-shirts off my chair, unprompted, to help me stuff them into the front pocket of my bag. “You’re not secretly seeing someone, are you? Because if you’re hiding a secret boyfriend from me, Ainsley, I will personally confiscate all your oversized sweaters.”

I froze for a split second, my heart hammering a sudden, panicked cadence against my ribs.

“No,” I said, forcing my voice to stay light, airy, and completely unbothered. “Please. You know my life. It’s school and dance and just trying to make it to summer unscathed.”