I grab the pie and start to make my move, but Owen is already on his way towards me. I smile as big as I can. His eyes go to my legs, and I remember what I’m wearing. I stand still as his gaze wanders up my body, finally landing on my face.
“That for me?” he says, coming to stand in front of me. I glance down at the box in my hand, wishing it wasn’t one with hearts on it.
“It’s apple.” I say, shrugging.
“Your apple pie is my favorite, Libby.”
It doesn’t sound like he’s talking about my apple pie from the diner. I stand there, unsure what to say, feeling completely uncomfortable. I push the pie towards him, and he takes it. Then he brings his hand to my cheek, and I flinch.
“You got a little something,” he explains as his thumb slides along my cheek.
I see a bit of white dust and realize it’s either flour or sugar. I was working with both this morning. He starts to bring his thumb to his mouth when a hand reaches out, grabbing him by the wrist.
“Jasper,” I whisper into the quiet as a look of anger burns in his blue eyes.
2
Jasper
I grip the steering wheel tighter as I watch Libby take off her flannel shirt and tie it around her waist. Thank God she’s covering those Daisy Dukes she’s got on. When the fuck did she get those? It’s not right for a girl her age to be wearing something like that. Fuck that. Those are things you should wear at home for a man who would get on his knees and be thankful for you doing so, not just anyone on a street.
I think about getting out of my truck and helping her carry in those boxes, but I see her friend Nicole with her and I don’t want to intrude. The last thing she wants is for her brother to butt in. Step-brother. I remind myself as I watch the two of them carry the boxes into the Sunshine Diner.
When my dad told me he was going to marry Carol, I was so happy for him. I could tell how happy he was with her. I’d met her briefly before their wedding, but I knew my dad was in love with her from day one. They had a quick courtship, and then they eloped, saying that they couldn’t spend another moment apart. I understand that all too well, but there isn’t a happily ever after in store for me.
The first time I saw Libby was the day they moved in. She was standing on my front porch carrying a suitcase. I was a little shocked that I’d be getting a sister at the age of sixteen, but I was kind of excited by the idea. It had always been my dad and me. I’d wanted a sibling, and I was getting one. But when I saw her there, so many emotions hit me at once. I’d reached out that day and taken her suitcase from her hand, but was unable to get a single word past my lips. She looked like an angel. I’d never seen something as pretty as her before. Our parents stood there, waiting on us to say something to one another, but I couldn’t.
Eventually I showed her to her new room and put her suitcase on her bed. I looked into her bright green eyes, so full of wonder yet hesitant. Her jet-black hair was cut short back then, and I remember wanting to ask if she’d done it herself, just to make conversation. But the words stuck in my throat again, and I chickened out. Instead, she spoke first, thanking me, and gave me the prettiest smile I’d ever seen. It lit up the dark spare room that we’d never used, and suddenly the bare house we’d been living in became a home.
I lean my head back against the window of my truck and close my eyes, trying to picture those first few years living together. She was thirteen at the time and always wanted to tag along with me, whatever I did. I’d never admit it to her, but I always loved how she wouldn’t leave my side. When we’d walk out to the barn or through the woods, I took every chance I could to hold her hand to keep her from tripping, but I pulled mine away as soon as I could. I was so afraid that she’d be able to tell by my touch what I truly thought.
“Dammit, Jasper,” I say to myself, hating this train of thought.
No matter what I do, it happens every time I see her. One look and I’m propelled back to all the times we spent together…and then my reason for running. For getting out of town as fast as I could and only coming back when I had to. Banging my head against the glass, I try to stop the memories, but it’s no use.
I was nineteen when I finally moved out, unable to take another moment in the house with her. I’d seen her grow from an awkward teenager into a sixteen-year-old with a body of a much older woman. Her curves didn’t belong on a little sister. They belonged in the centerfold of Hustler. The thought of her being seen like that by other men makes me clench my teeth.
My dad calls me home at least once a week, and most of the time I’m able to avoid it. I used to say I was busy with school, but I finished up my certification last month, so I can’t give him those lines anymore.