Pleasantly Popped: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (Love & Alliteration Book 3)

by Holly Kerr

  “I go with my gut. It’s the only way.”

  I open my mouth to respond when Flora hails me from the end of the aisle. “Hey, Trev, you’re going to M.K.’s tomorrow night, aren’t you?”

  “I’m going to Clay’s party, at Clay’s place,” I point out. “He was my friend first. So, yes, I’ll be there.”

  “Why don’t you come over beforehand and help us eat this chili?” she suggests. “Dean’s making so much that I’ll be eating it for weeks unless he has more mouths to feed.”

  “You clearly have a mouth,” Ruthie says under her breath.

  “As do you,” I shoot back. “Sure, thanks,” I say to Flora.

  “I’ll invite Patrick and Adam, too. We’ll have a party before the party.”

  “That’s what my students call a pre.” My stomach makes an ominous growl.

  “Someone’s hungry,” Ruthie says. “Better go.”

  Another glance shows Ruthie is back to avoiding my gaze. “I guess I’d better. Thanks for the invite, Flora. See you tomorrow.”

  “Come for six,” she says.

  “Sounds good.” I glance at Ruthie and give her a solemn nod. “Ruthie.”

  “Trev.” Those berry-stained lips curve at the corners in a hint of a smile. “Until you stalk me again.”

  “Maybe next time you’ll do the stalking.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ruthie

  I watch as Trev disappears down the aisle.

  “You confuse me.”

  I glance over to see Flora staring after him too. “Got everything?” I ask instead of replying.

  “Last night I got the impression that you liked him,” Flora says carefully. “But that wasn’t a girl who liked a boy.”

  “Because last night showed that boy is never going to like a girl like me.” With a shrug of my shoulder, I head down the aisle, careful not to walk too fast so I don’t catch up to Trev. I tell myself there’s no sense feeling disappointment, or thinking about how cute Trev is with his hair mussed like he spent the day running his hands through it.

  I should have asked him how his writing is going.

  Giving my head a shake, I marvel how I can confuse even myself.

  ~

  The next day is New Year’s Eve. I have a shift at Meredith’s and then I do a little post-Christmas shopping. By the time I get back to Flora’s the whole house smells like chili and Cappie won’t leave the kitchen in case something drops on the floor.

  “I had no idea you could cook,” I say to Dean, stopping on my way upstairs with my bags.

  Dean gives a rueful smile at the direction of my bags. “And I had no idea you could shop like that.”

  “It’s a sport.”

  Flora bustles into the kitchen. “Good, you’re home. Go get ready and then we can have a pre-dinner drink. The boys will be here in about an hour.”

  “Are there any girls coming?”

  She shakes her head. “Dean asked Imad and Rashida but they’re away for the holidays. There’ll be females at M.K.’s but until then it’s just you and me against the masses.”

  “I like those odds. Actually…” I go over the guest list. “A couple, a couple who are gay, and me and Trev.”

  “Do you still like those odds?” Flora asks slyly.

  “Was this your ulterior motive for inviting him?” I demand.

  “He’s one of Dean’s best friends,” Flora says with a gleeful smile. “No motive.”

  “I’m going upstairs.” With bags in hand, I head for the stairs.

  “I really had no motive,” Flora calls after me.

  “You’re just saying that because you want me to do your makeup.”

  “That’s so nice of you to offer.”

  “If you want me to, you’ll have to bring me up a drink,” I relent. “A big one. Lots of alcohol.”

  “That’s a deal.”

  I slow my steps to hear the question I know is coming. “What’s going on with her and Trev?” Dean asks.

  The creak of the step blocks Flora’s answer and I’m too annoyed to stay to listen.

  I spread my new clothes on the bed. Three pairs of pants, which I’m excited about because I rarely find more than a pair at a time that fits properly; four tops, and a handful of dangling necklaces. No shoes.

  I had my hands on a pair of purple plaid boots that came up to mid-calf. They would have looked amazing with my cream pants I wore for Christmas, but then I remembered the disdain on Annette’s face when I wore my red boots. “I should go back and buy the boots,” I say softly.

  “Did you smuggle someone in with your bags?” Flora asks at the door. She hands me a tall glass. Something with pineapple juice, I decide from the colour.

  “Just talking to myself.”

  “Do you want me to leave you to your conversation?”

  Without answering, I hold up a pair of pants. “What do you think?”

  “They’re very pink,” Flora says carefully, setting the glasses on the dresser.

  “I know. Aren’t they fabulous?” I hold them against me. “I’m wearing them tonight.”

  Flora fingers the fabric of the hot-pink pants. High-waisted and wide legged and I had fallen in love with them on the hanger. “I wish I could dress like you.”

  “You should dress like you,” I say instinctively. “You should never dress like someone else.”

  “You’ve got such a unique style. You’re so creative and bright, and you don’t care what anyone thinks.”

  “I’m glad you approve,” I say, laying the pants back on the bed before I reach for the drink.

  “What did your mother say this time?” I meet Flora’s gaze with surprise. “You’ve been off for a couple of days now. The thing with Trev—”

  “There is absolutely nothing there. No thing with Trev,” I snap.

  “But there could be,” Flora says. “Colton has gone by the wayside, and usually you have your next victim set up by now. Trev seems the obvious choice.”

  “What do you mean, victim?”

  Flora heaves a sigh. “Obviously the wrong word.”

  “Obviously.” I stare at my reflection in the mirror and smooth my eyebrow. Flora pushes the pants aside and perches on the bed.

  “What happened at Christmas?” she asks.

  “You were at the same place I was. Home for the holidays.”

  “Exactly. I figure your mother got in your head. I’m sorry I haven’t had a chance to ask you about it.” The sincerity rings in her voice.

  My shoulders droop. Flora is the one person who I can always trust to have my back. She might not believe in me as much as I’d like her to, but is that my fault or hers?

  “She redid my room,” I say flatly, rummaging through the collection of lipsticks arranged on the dresser. I pick up a dark red and angrily dab at my lips. “It’s like she’s some Martha Stewart wannabee—is Martha Stewart even a thing anymore? She’s made my room boring. It has no character, no me. Just blah.”

  “She didn’t give you a heads-up?”

  “She wanted it to be a surprise.” I punctuate my words by pressing my lips together to blend the colour. “Surprise! She wants me out of the house.”

  “Do you want me to say something to Archie?” Flora asks softly.

  “What’s the point? She doesn’t do anything that he would think is wrong, but it’s just never right for me.” Catching a Kleenex from the nearby box, I wipe off the lipstick. Flora reaches out to run a gentle hand along my shoulders. It’s only her touch that prompts me to continue. “Do you know Amelia’s room has never been touched?” I pick up the glass and take a healthy swallow. The alcohol warms my insides.

  Flora is family, so she knows the story about my late sister. The official story as well as what I’ve shared with her over the years. She’s the only one I’ve shared it with. “What do you mean?”

  “The room still looks the same as the day she died. Probably. I don’t know since I don’t remember back that far. I’m sure it’s clea
n. Tidy. But all her things are still there, all her stuffed animals and dolls. Everything is pink and girly, and she wouldn’t even let me keep my purple walls.”

  “Ruthie…”

  I throw up my hand and pineapple juice sloshes over the side of the glass. “That’s not fair, is it? Is it just me, or is it really not fair?”

  “No, it’s not fair.”

  There’s a long silence in the room, broken only by me gulping down the drink. “This is good.”

  “Dean made it.”

  “Do you still want me to do your makeup?” I need something to do, something to distract me.

  “Sure.” Flora moves closer to the dresser.

  I paw through my makeup case, teal green circa 1970 that I found in Value Village years ago. Selecting primer, my contour palette and a square of silver eye shadow, I lay it on the dresser. “I think this colour will be great with your eyes. Amelia has been dead for how long?” I ask, beginning to smooth primer on Flora’s cheeks.

  “Twenty-two years,” Flora supplies, closing her eyes as my fingers move upward.

  “Twenty-two years, and I’m alive, and every time my mother looks at me, she looks at me like she’s asking me to change places with Amelia.” I push Flora’s hair off her forehead, smoothing in more primer, focusing on Flora so I won’t feel the cracks in my heart.

  “That’s not true.”

  “Really? Feels true to me.” I wipe my hands on my pants and pick up my brush, adding contour under Flora’s cheeks, beside her nose and on her jawline.

  “Ruthie, Annette—your mother—has issues from your sister’s death.” Flora’s eyes are still closed as I blend and blend.

  “You think? And do you think her issues have given me issues?”

  A deep sigh, but she keeps her eyes closed. “I think yes, but it doesn’t have to be that way.”

  “And what do you suggest I do to make it not that way?” I pause with my brush held over her cheek. Flora’s eyes flash open at my icy tone.

  “I feel like I shouldn’t talk to you about this when you’re holding a weapon,” she tries to joke.

  “You’re the only one I can talk to about this,” I mutter and lean over the dresser for a brush to apply the silver eye shadow.

  “Have you tried talking to your mother?” I laugh at Flora’s question. “Seriously. When’s the last time you had a serious conversation with her?”

  I use my thumb to blend in a spot of silver on her brow bone, picking my words. “I spend my life thinking of things that can piss her off, because when she’s mad at me, she’s acknowledging me. She sees me. Every other time she doesn’t look at me. Or when she does, she looks through me.”

  “It doesn’t have to be that way.”

  “I stand in front of her and she looks through me. How is that going to change?”

  “I mean, you don’t have to have issues because of her. You can stop trying to live your life to annoy her. Stop living your life because of her, Ruthie. You told M.K. basically the same thing about Clay and Theo. Why don’t you take your own advice?”

  I finish Flora’s eye shadow and pick up a mascara wand. “I’m not going to do eyeliner because your lashes are so thick,” I say.

  Flora catches hold of my hand before I begin. “Don’t you have anything to say?”

  “I’m thinking. Look up.” I apply the mascara with a steady hand.

  “Do you think I know what I’m talking about?” Flora asks. Her mouth hangs open as she fights to keep looking at the ceiling.

  “About some things,” I relent.

  “About you? I’ve only known you since you were born. Plus, I know your mother, who is also my sister-in-law. And I’m sorry for everything she’s done to you, or not done for you, but I don’t think she’s going to change without a lot of help. Professional help, not just a nosy family member.”

  “You make it sound like I’m blaming her for everything wrong with me.”

  “I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with you, Ruthie.” I step back and Flora stares at me, her eyes vibrant and beautiful. “You have your own personality, and I love you for it. But I think your mother’s behaviour over the years has caused you to doubt yourself about a lot of things.”

  “I don’t doubt myself.”

  “You expect to disappoint others, so you leave before you can.” Flora barks a laugh. “You won’t even stay longer than two weeks with me. You move from job to job, and yes, relationship to relationship because you don’t want to let anyone down. You never give a guy a chance to get to know you.”

  “He might not like what he finds out,” I say before I can stop myself.

  “How do you know?” Flora implores. “Look at everyone who knows you—they love you! Me and Patrick—”

  “You’re family,” I interrupt. “You have to love me.”

  “M.K. isn’t. Not really. And Adam and Dean and Clay aren’t. Reuben. Even Trev!” she exclaims. “He couldn’t keep his eyes off you when we saw him last night, and the night before. He wants to know more, and I bet he’ll like what he finds.”

  “I don’t want to talk about Trev,” I say quickly, but not before a thrill runs through me at the mention of his name.

  “Well, you should want to.” Flora stands up. “He’s a good guy and you deserve one of those.”

  “Like you.” I brush a smear of mascara off her cheek and smile at my work.

  “Like me,” she says firmly. “I think you should give him a chance. Maybe he needs someone like you, rather than that stick-in-the-mud from the other night.”

  “I can’t be worse than her.” I grin at Flora and impulsively, give her a hug.

  Trev

  A burst of laughter greets me when I arrive at Flora’s house. As I follow her into the kitchen, the image of Ruthie in the red satin shorts teases me.

  “They’re kind of loud,” Flora says apologetically as she hands me a beer.

  “A little. It’s okay. I was young once.”

  She clinks her glass against mine. “I still am and so are you. Go on in.”

  The Christmas decorations are still up in the living room but the house looks normal without the clogged rooms of their party. Now it’s only Patrick, Adam, and Ruthie laughing uproariously as they play Cards Against Humanity.

  Cappie lies on the floor in a superman pose. He wiggles his bum in greeting but doesn’t move other than that. I kneel to scratch behind his ears. “No Drogo to play with,” I tell him.

  “Hey, it’s the stalker,” Ruthie says with a grin. She’s wearing pink pants so bright that sunglasses should be mandatory. As soon as I see her, I’m glad I wore the sweater she got me. And doubly glad when her smile widens as she recognizes it. “Nice shirt.” She raises her glass. “No wine tonight.”

  “Good to know.” I raise my beer bottle and tap my chest with it. “But just in case, I thought if you were going to dump something on it, why not be something you bought me?”

  “You bought him a sweater?” Adam’s head swivels between Ruthie and me. “Why…?”

  “I ruined his other one,” Ruthie says as she leans forward to pick up a card.

  Adam snaps his fingers. “That’s right, you did. Nice choice, by the way.” He smiles admiringly at me. “Lovely colour and it fits you just…fine.”

  “Thanks.” I’m usually at a loss when a woman tries to flirt with me, and I’m even worse when it’s a man.

  “Come sit.” Adam pats the seat on the couch beside him. I guess now’s a good a time as any to get some practice in.

  Patrick leans across Adam. “So how was your date the other night? She seemed…” he trails off, raising his eyebrow expectantly.

  “Like a real treat?” I shake my head ruefully. “Yeah, not sure how I got myself into that one.”

  “How did you meet her?” Ruthie asks, sounding like she doesn’t have a care in the world.

  Maybe she doesn’t.

  I shift uneasily on my seat. “My mother, actually. She gave Paulina my number.”<
br />
  “Your mother set you up?” Flora demands entering with another round of drinks.

  “Yeah. Doesn’t everyone’s mother do that?”

  Ruthie and Patrick look at each other, and then at Flora and they all burst out laughing. Adam shakes his head. “Definitely not. I would hate to meet the person my parents think I should be with.”

  “Mom keeps trying,” I say, sipping my beer.

  “Any luck?” Ruthie asks.

  “Once,” I admit.

  Dean looms in the doorway into the living room. “Come eat chili,” he instructs. “You guys need to sop up some of the booze.”

  “Do I have a lot of catching up to do?” I ask as we stand and file into the kitchen.

  “I had a good afternoon,” Ruthie says as she clinks her glass with Flora’s.

  I don’t know if she’s serious or sarcastic, and I want to. I want to know more.

  But—no. There’s no interest. That much is crystal clear.

  ~

  The more time I spend with Flora, the more I like her. Dean’s a lucky man to have found her, as convoluted as their story might be.

  Patrick is fun and Adam is even funnier. He keeps us laughing all night, thankfully taking my mind off Ruthie sitting beside me.

  Yes, after we return with bowls of chili, she sits beside me on the couch, a little too close for me to be comfortable.

  “That’s an interesting pair of pants you’re wearing tonight,” I say after I finish my chili.

  She smiles widely, her lips another dark berry-like colour. This one looks more like cherries. “I told you I like to pop.”

  “They certainly do. You look amazing.”

  Why did I say that?

  “Thank you.” Her eyes shine from the compliment and I purse my lips together not to say something that would remove the happiness from her face. “You look very nice in your sweater.”

  I glance down at the piece of clothing in question. “Thanks. I guess I should say you’ve got good taste.”

  “You don’t have to say it, I already know.” With a wicked smile, she takes the bowl from my hands. “I’ll take this for you,” she says as she stands up, leaving a coolness where her body had sat.