Being Mary Bennet by J. C. Peterson

Author:J. C. Peterson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2021-12-06T00:00:00+00:00

SIXTEEN

PUMPKIN PIE FOR BREAKFAST IS severely underrated.

This is our second morning choosing dessert over something boring like hard-boiled eggs, and I have no regrets. After breakfast, Adhira raids my closet and helps me choose an outfit for today’s Bark Books: cropped jeans and a white button-down embroidered with comically long wiener dogs. I used to wear it open over a dress, but she buttons it halfway and ties the ends “to show off your waist.” She suggests a stacked heel, but I suggest she stop dreaming and slip into my clogs. As a consolation, I let her do my hair in a messy topknot and pull out the earrings I bought yesterday after our Winchester Mystery House tour. The tassels are bright blue like today’s morning sky and hang nearly to my shoulders.

I twist my head back and forth and let them shimmy in my earlobes. They make me feel—please never tell anyone I’m saying this—sassy.

Mom and Dad have some sort of charity event, Kat and Lola refused to get up, Joss is probably wrangling the triplets, and Lindy is meeting with an investor for her documentary, so it’s just me and Adhira on the train north to Paws & Claws. She can’t stay long because she has a progress meeting with Dev and Tilda, but the fact that she’s coming to support me is sunshine on my face. We even get into the city early and grab pastries and coffees for everyone, though I have to guess Whit’s order. When we walk up to Paws & Claws, Daniel and Whit are lugging crates out of Booker to set up the display table.

“Hey, guys!” I hold up the coffees like a trophy and bound toward them. There’s an undeniable spring in my step. Would we call it a sassy step? I daresay we would. We hand out the coffees and almond croissants, then Adhira makes big eyes at me and Whit, announces she requires dog snuggles, and runs off. Daniel follows her a minute later.

Last time I saw Whit, I sort of, kind of asked him out. Does he remember? Definitely, right? But I stomp down the desire to squeak and scurry away and instead lift my chin and ask, “How was your date?” at the same moment that he says, “Thanks for the cold brew.”

We stare at each other. I say, “Yeah, of course” at the exact moment he kind of . . . groans? What a totally natural conversation we’re having!

Whit leans back against Booker’s open rear door and takes a sip of his drink. I pick a slivered almond off the top of the croissant and sit down inside the bookmobile’s door. After a second, Whit joins me, our feet dangling and our legs nearly touching. I’m aware of how close he is, how nearly hidden we are in the shadows inside Booker. My heart kicks and I swallow hard.

Whit stares out the door. “It was really, um, first date-y. Those are always kind of weird, especially when your sister sets them up.

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