Twice Shy by Sarah Hogle

Author:Sarah Hogle [Hogle, Sarah]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2021-04-06T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

THE FOLLOWING DAY, I head over to the manor to get to work and it’s a relief that Wesley’s away doing a job. Why did I think friendship with Wesley would be a good idea? It’s a terrible idea. I’m going to catch a crush on him. He’s dreamy, but until now his grumpiness has saved me from making an idiot of myself. If he shows me the barest hint of warmth, my weak knees will buckle like clockwork. It’s my worst habit.

Right now, a crush swelling with the most dangerous undertow I’ve ever laid eyes on flits at the horizon, tearing it up at warp speed, but I’ve still got time. I’ve got willpower. I am resolving myself here and now to keep my distance, which should be easy enough. Wesley loves distance! We’ll ignore each other. Wesley loves ignoring each other! I’ve picked so many insensitive, cold hearts to give mine to, but his is a new record. I’d be the least safe in his hands: What if we dated and it went south, as most relationships do? We share a house! Neither of us wants to give it up. I’d be living directly under my ex, unable to escape him. If he cheated on me like most of the others did, that would ruin Falling Stars for me forever. It’d be too painful to stay—I’d have to give up the hotel of my dreams. Unacceptable.

I can’t decide if that scenario is better or worse than another contender: that I’ll develop feelings, and those feelings will be unrequited.

I’ve got to stamp out those feeble quiverings now, before they become a problem. He’s gone and dug a tent out of storage—one tent, singular—to use on Saturday, as he casually mentioned the trip will take us all day and most of the terrain we have to explore will have to be trod on foot. If it gets late, we’ll camp out. In the same tent. Together. Maybe he’s able to be blasé about it because he finds me so unattractive that I’m not even a shadow on his radar; I’m like a shovel, just part of the expedition gear. Or maybe he plans to seduce me. I envision us lying next to a roaring fire as he feeds me s’mores . . .

“You don’t like him,” I tell myself sternly. “He’s a grouch.”

I walk into the ballroom, determined to lose myself in cleaning. The first thing I see is the handmade tinfoil star that’s appeared at the top of my Christmas tree, which I’m not able to reach. Someone has indulged my untimely holiday spirit.

I groan louder, spin on my heel, and walk right back out.

“He doesn’t like me,” I growl at myself. “I’m just the pesky equal inheritor. The necessary evil he can’t get rid of, so he’s sucking it up and making the best of a bad situation.” I smack my face lightly. “Even if he does like me, it doesn’t matter. Doesn’t change the fact that muddying those waters is a bad, bad, bad idea.

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