The conversation turns to the holidays, and all the things Edna and the other older ladies are knitting for their grandchildren. Justin breaks the rule about asking for help—wondering aloud if there’s a faster way to attach the rainbow mane to his hat—but Edna’s so charmed by the fact that this big, manly man is making a rainbow unicorn hat for a little girl he loves that she invites him over to the couch for up close and personal guidance. Britta swings by the love seat to ask more questions about Justin and how long I’ve known him, and Melanie and I end up finding common ground in the fact that we were both homeschooled as kids due to speech delays and stuttering issues.
“I had no idea.” Britta frowns up at me from her place on the floor. “You always seem so chill and collected.”
“Do I?” I ask, surprised.
“Totally. You’re super classy,” Britta says, popping her gum. “Like Audrey Hepburn or one of those old movie stars. My friend Kelly is, too. I can’t pull that off, though. I talk too much, and I cuss pretty much constantly.” Her blue eyes widen as she casts a quick glance over her shoulder to where Edna is now helping Hannah, the other newbie, pick up a dropped stitch, and she turns back to add in a softer voice, “But don’t tell Gran. She would wash my mouth out with soap. I mean, everybody does it at my school, but she’s super old-fashioned about stuff like that.”
“We won’t tell,” Melanie assures her with a smile, looking much more comfortable than she did when Jus and I walked in. “And I agree, I never would have thought you used to have a stutter, Libby. You’re always so gracious and put together.”
“Well, thank you.” I laugh self-consciously. “That’s sweet of you to say.”
Their words make me wonder if I maybe I’m not as much of a hopeless case as I think I am. Maybe my nervous moments don’t show as much on the outside as I’ve assumed. And maybe, once I’ve learned all the things Justin wants to teach me, I will truly be ready to start dating like a normal twenty-something.
It should be an encouraging thought, but as I head into the kitchen to make a fresh batch of lemonade for Edna, I’m not encouraged. Or excited. Or looking forward to spreading my wings and jumping out of the friends-with-benefits nest. I want to stay in the nest, with Justin, and shut out the rest of the world.
I’m wondering if that’s bad news—a sign that maybe I’m getting too attached to something Justin and I both agreed should remain casual—when a high voice behind me sing-songs, “Hey there, Libby, darling. Can we talk?” making me flinch so hard I slosh water over the rim of the pitcher and into the sink.
“Sorry to scare you,” Priscilla says as I shut off the faucet.
“No, it’s my fault. I was lost in thought.” I laugh as I set the pitcher down and reach for the lemonade packet from the cupboard. “What did you want to talk about? If you changed your mind and want me to come by the gallery, I really don’t mind at all. I know I’m not a professional, but I’ve been going to museums and openings since I was a kid. My parents are big supporters of art of all kinds.”
“Maybe I will ask you to swing by.” Pris crosses her arms as she leans her hip against the solid oak dining table on the left side of the kitchen. “But I was actually coming to ask you about Justin. Is he seeing anyone, that you know of?”
“Um…” I blink what I hope is innocently as I open the lemonade packet and pour it into the pitcher, figuring it’s best to keep my eyes elsewhere as I lie to Pris. “Not that I know of. But he just broke up with a woman he was dating for a while, so I’m not sure he’s looking to get involved with anyone right now.”
Priscilla chuckles. “Oh, I’m not looking to get involved, either. Just looking for someone who can keep up with me in the bedroom, and Justin looks like he might have potential, you know?”
“Oh, well…” I stir the lemonade with an intensity and focus that would be more appropriate for performing open-heart surgery. I don’t know Pris well enough to be comfortable having this kind of conversation, and I sure as heck don’t want to discuss Justin’s bedroom “potential” with her or anyone else.
I’m still trying to figure out what to say to kill this line of questioning without being rude, when she laughs.
“Don’t worry about it, Libby. I shouldn’t have asked. I had a feeling that kind of question would make you uncomfortable.” She makes a concerned, cooing sound so falsely sweet it makes my tongue curl. “You don’t date much, do you? I mean, you never talk about a significant other. It’s all kids and crafts with you, huh?”