“Even if I did, it wouldn’t be something I’d discuss in front of my dad,” I said firmly, shooting her a look.
Here’s the thing: we’ve always gotten along. She’s always been closer to a fun aunt than a stepmom, but I guess that’s the perk of being a stepmom.
Abigail also knew exactly how I felt about Preston, and now I was really, really regretting telling her.
She twisted her back to my dad and gave me an over-exaggerated wink. “Honey, the message light on the phone in your office is blinking.”
Dad muttered something under his breath that sounded an awful lot like, “Can’t even eat fucking dinner with my family,” and left us alone in the kitchen.
I pursed my lips at Abigail. “Can you not do that when he’s around? This is a problem, Abigail. I’m in trouble.”
She rolled her eyes and sat down at the expansive island that spread across the middle of the kitchen. “You’re not in trouble. You’re being dramatic.”
“I am so in trouble.” I walked over and leaned over, resting on my elbows while still keeping hold of my glass. “He’s going to sit there on the other side of the curtain, kissing other women, and I have to listen to that.”
“You’re forgetting a fundamental part of the situation.”
“Which is?”
“You’re kissing other men.”
I paused. “Yes, but I’m used to kissing other men. Have you seen the women interested in Preston? They’re tall and skinny and beautiful and perfect and—”
“Oh, my God, Halley.” Abigail finished the rest of her wine and got the bottle from the fridge before she filled both of our glasses. “Who cares what they look like? You have got to stop comparing yourself to other people. Yes, the girls who like Preston might be tall and skinny and beautiful and perfect in your opinion, but that doesn’t mean you’re right. They aren’t you. Being you is your superpower. Embrace it.”
I pursed my lips. “This is The Talk, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it’s The Talk. Clearly, nobody else is giving it to you.”
I said nothing. We both knew that for all of my mother’s excellent qualities, knocking sense into me wasn’t something she’d ever found time for. “Fine. Go ahead.”
Abigail sat down and leaned over the island. “It doesn’t matter about anyone else. Who cares if he’s kissing girls like that? If he wants them over you, then he’s a fool. Any guy is. But until you start seeing yourself for the catch you are, nobody else is going to see it.”
I sighed. “Yes, everyone in town wants to date the mayor’s librarian daughter who has to put peanut butter sandwiches out for raccoons.”
“You don’t have to put the sandwiches out.”
“No, I do. They’re attracted to my trash. Like kids to candy.”
Her lips twitched. “Remember this: Preston Wright is not the only man in the universe. There is no easy way to date your best friend’s brother. Save yourself the trouble.” She winked and sipped from her glass. “And one day, you’ll find the person who accepts you. Raccoons and all.”
“That doesn’t change that I have to see Preston every day. Or listen to him kissing other women.”
“Halley, you’re forgetting one important thing. It’s all for charity. It doesn’t matter if he’s there doing it. It doesn’t mean anything, and you’ve seen him date other women. You won’t be sitting and watching him kiss other people. All you have to do is shut it off and do what you’re there to do. And beat his ass.”
I snorted wine up my nose. “You’re right. I’m freaking out over something I have no control over. This is ridiculous.”
“Ah, you’re your father’s daughter. He freaks out about everything. Yesterday, he had a minor meltdown over the mailbox being creaky. I went out there with some oil and, what do you know? No more creaks.” Abigail shrugged.
“Well, someone in this family has to have a level head.”
She winked. “That’s why I’m here, darlin’.”
I smiled and finished my wine. “Okay, I’m gonna head home. There’s some stuff to do tomorrow for the kissing booth, and I need to make sure that we get the flyers distributed for the tourists. Tell Dad I said bye.” I hugged her tightly, grabbed my things, and waved as I left.
The evening air wasn’t too hot, but it was warm enough that I still felt the trickle of sweat as it made its way down my back. Thankfully, I didn’t live too far from my dad’s house, so I was home in ten minutes, right as darkness began creeping over the town.
Golden hues coated the lower half of the sky, and the sun’s late rays beamed through my windows as I let myself in. I winced as it hit me right in the eye, but I dipped my head and ducked into the kitchen out of reach of the brightness.
A glance out of my back door showed me that my resident trash pandas hadn’t woken up and started causing havoc yet, so I used some initiative and pulled bread and peanut butter out of my cupboard.
I fixed several sandwiches and cut them into squares before carrying them out onto my porch on a plate. Four bowls were built into the decking thanks to Stephen, and they were glued in tight to battle against the light-fingered Boris, the daddy raccoon.
I put the sandwiches in the bowl, filled the one for water, and went back inside.
I dropped myself onto my sofa in the living room and turned on the TV. A murder mystery documentary immediately played on the Crime + Investigation channel, but it was almost over, so I scrolled through the TV guide.
There was absolutely nothing on.
Why the hell did I pay for this shit? I had Netflix and Hulu. Wasn’t that enough?
I scrolled through them both until I eventually settled on sighing and turning on Gilmore Girls. There was something comforting in watching one of your favorite shows over and over again.
I lay back and repositioned the cushions so I was comfortable. It was the episode where Rory and Dean got together, and I couldn’t help but tut my disapproval. That was because I knew what happened and, well, I liked to judge fictional characters who did things that I disapproved of.
I was worthy of being judged myself—hello, my little hissy fit about Preston being my competition? That was ridiculous and pathetic, and it was a miracle nobody had slapped me for it.
If Ava and Reagan had seen the full extent of it, they would have.
My phone beeped on the table, and I reached over to grab it. A message from Ava was on the screen, so I unlocked my phone and opened it.
AVA: All the girls at this damn bar are talking about how they finally get to make out with Preston at the fair.
I wrinkled my face up in disgust. This was the thing I’d been frustrated about.
ME: They do know there are rules, don’t they? It’s not a make-out contest.
AVA: Someone tried telling them that, but they didn’t listen. I think they all have hair appointments on Monday.
AVA: Some of them might even be getting their nails done.
ME: It’s a kissing booth, not a dating show.
AVA: Tell them that. They all think it’s a chance to convince Preston he’s madly in love with them.
ME: Does nobody here have anything better to do with their lives?
AVA: No.