You're so Basic: A Grumpy Sunshine, Forced Proximity, Fall Vibes Romantic Comedy (Finding You Book 3) by Angela Casella

Author:Angela Casella [Casella, Angela]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9798985790771
Publisher: Angela Casella
Published: 2023-11-15T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

Mira

“No, probably not,” I tell Danny, trying not to laugh, even though I feel it bubbling up inside of me, impossible to resist. I grind the sage out onto a plate as if it’s a cigar.

“We did a few rituals to try to break the hex,” says Delia, sounding confident even though the only thing the rituals seemed to accomplish was to create this mess. There was no blinking of lights, no feeling of something breaking or changing. No sound. No…anything. I didn’t expect anything to happen, but it would have been fun if it had.

“You’re sure this didn’t happen because of the hex?” Danny asks. It’s a fair question—the kitchen area looks like a cyclone blew through it.

Delia’s eyes widen. “You think it did?”

“On that note,” Shauna says. “We should probably leave. I promised my grandmother I’d help her make soup.” She eyes the condition of the kitchen, then says, “Do you need help cleaning?”

“I’ll do it,” Danny offers.

She mimes wiping sweat off her forehead. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

I point at her. “Your job for Thanksgiving is to figure out how to roast a turkey.” My finger swings toward Delia. “Yours is to make pies. You make good pies. The more pies, the better.”

“What are we making?” Danny asks, and I feel an unexpected burst of pleasure from hearing him use that word. It’s a dangerous way to feel, though, and I try to guard myself against it.

“We will be supplying the most important part of Thanksgiving dinner,” I tell him.

“The booze,” Delia finishes with a half-smile. “You always say that.”

I do. But I suddenly wish we’d both shut our mouths, because I find myself remembering what Danny said about that ceramic turkey. It occurs to me that there’s another reason why the two of us are mismatched. I sell alcohol, and he told me just last night that his parents are alcoholics. He drinks a little, but it must still be…well, loaded for him.

My brain thinks it’s funny that getting loaded is loaded for him, but I don’t want to smile or laugh, because my eyes find that little line above his eyebrow and linger there.

I don’t like the woman who did that to him. When Delia was little, our mother seemed to love digging into our various faults. I told my sister that we didn’t have to be like her. We could find something to like about everyone. Even our mother—her something-to-like was that if she said she was going to do something, she did it. She didn’t do it with a lot of compassion or grace or warmth, but you could be assured it would get done. But I don’t think I can find anything to like about a woman who’d hurt Danny.

I clear my throat and look away. “Beverages of all types. There may be children present.”

Danny nods. “I was with Ruthie just now. She’s going to come, and she’s bringing Izzy.” Turning toward Shauna and Delia, he says, “We’ll make the mashed potatoes too.

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