Absolutely Not in Love (Sweater Weather, #7; Appies, #2)

by Jenny Proctor

Then there’s teacher tired. This tired doesn’t compare to anything else on the planet. Because it isn’t just my muscles or my mind that are worn out. It’s my muscles…and my brain and my emotions and my nerves. Not to mention my ego. Middle schoolers are sweet most of the time, but when they aren’t? They are literal demon spawn.

Ivy is what I call my library. It’s my favorite part of my apartment. It deserves a name.

All I know is I get more excited about the prospect of running into Gracie than I do anyone else I’ve met in Harvest Hollow.

I’ll never get tired of the sound of an orchestra warming up, the cacophony of so many instruments tossing random notes into the air. It sounds like anticipation—like potential.

People argue classical music is boring, but if they truly listened, they’d hear the stories, the heartache, the celebration.

I do love playing in the symphony. And for the past few years, it’s been enough. But it suddenly occurs to me that it might be nice if there were someone here to enjoy it with me—someone who was here for me.

But she isn’t really into hockey.” Mom turns and heads across the living room. “Then it’s a good thing you’re more than a hockey player.” Her words resonate deep in my gut. I am more.

“When I was growing up, I was always impressed by the kids who were willing to play goalie,” I finally say. “Josh never wanted to. Said it was too much pressure—especially because the younger the team, the weaker their defensive skills are, so goalies are often the only thing between a win or a loss. But the goalies always seemed like they had this quiet confidence.”

tonight, when he leaned into my apartment and told me he hopes I change my mind about hockey players, that was the confidence I might expect to see in a goalie. And it was dead sexy.

Honestly, does he have to be so handsome? My resistance would be so much easier if he wasn’t.

When I have kids—if I ever have kids—I want to talk to them just like Summer is talking to Maddox. Like they matter. Like whatever they love is the most important thing. Whether it’s music or horseback riding or swimming or drawing. Or hockey, I think, a weight settling into my stomach. I’m a Mitchell, after all. If my own family is any indication, where seventy-five percent of us are diehard fans, the odds are pretty good I might have at least one kid who loves the sport. Especially if I live in Harvest Hollow.

It’s always been all or nothing in my brain. But maybe—maybe—it doesn’t have to be.

You don’t have anything to prove, Felix. You’re an asset to this team, and you’re doing enough.” Her words strike an uncomfortable chord deep in my gut. You don’t have anything to prove.

I listen to classical music all the time, but somehow, hearing her play it feels different. Like more.

I hate that my remodeling decisions landed her in this situation in the first place, but I’m not sorry to have an excuse to touch her. Or sorry that she isn’t complaining or pulling away.

I’m saying yes because I like the idea of being closer to Felix. Maybe I just like him. And I have no idea what to do about that.

I have to pretend like this is just a normal date. No—not even a date. This is just…a conversation that happens to include dinner. With my neighbor who isn’t at all interested in dating me. Still, as we talk about music and books and so many other things we have in common, I can’t fully suppress the hope that this is the start of something great.

You aren’t blind, Felix. You know you aren’t unattractive. ” “Maybe. But knowing I’m attractive generally and knowing you find me attractive are not the same thing.”

She studies the notes, humming softly to herself. She’s a professional musician. I know it shouldn’t surprise me that she’s probably going to figure out the piece just by looking at it. But damn if it’s not sexy to think about her doing just that.

“Seriously, are you even for real?” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “It means you’re both a ridiculously hot hockey stud and a music nerd. How is that even possible?”

Is that how bad this is? I’m considering my days, my weeks, in terms of time with Gracie and time without her?

Is it bad that I remember what his handwriting looks like? That I’m filing away all these little details about Felix like tiny keepsakes?

She purses her lips. “You’re not funny.” I smirk. “I’m a little funny.”

The more time I spend with Felix, the more I’m starting to see the layers to him, each one revealing more of a good, good man.

If he tried to kiss me, I’d let him. And I don’t think he’d stop me if I made the first move. But I also think we’d be rushing things. And if this is happening between us, I want to make sure we get it right.

Felix: Have you ever read Amy Harmon’s From Sand and Ash? Gracie: I haven’t. Felix: It’s a historical war novel that’s also a romance. Read it. It’s one of my favorites.

Gracie: Also, I finished the book—read it in one day—and I LOVED it. So far, you’re two for two with your recommendations. Excellent work. Felix: Keep stroking my ego, and you’ll get book recommendations for life. Gracie: I like this plan.

I thought I loved watching Gracie all dressed up, playing on stage with the rest of the Harvest Hollow Symphony. But here, in my living room, playing for me—only me—I just hope she doesn’t need me to talk. Because my words are gone. Disappeared. Or maybe there just aren’t any words. Not for this. Not for how she’s making me feel right now.

I brace myself for her response, but there’s an easy confidence in her expression. “It terrifies me. But I think it’s supposed to, Felix.” She leans down and presses a lingering kiss to my lips. “That’s how we know it’s good. When we’re already scared of losing it.” I am already scared of losing whatever this is.

She’s completely ridiculous, but I’m grateful for her anyway. Everyone deserves a friend like Summer in their lives.

I have never felt anything but safe in Felix’s presence. But seeing him now, recognizing the respect in his eyes, I realize how deeply I trust him. And how much that matters to me.

I can perfectly imagine it. I just don’t want to. Because in their eyes, it will mean I’ve finally come back to the fold. They will treat me differently because now, I will have given them evidence that I’m one of them. That I don’t actually hate hockey after all. I don’t love how much I want that feeling. I also don’t love that I’ve never had it before just by being me.

“What just happened?” I say, and she starts to laugh. “I think he just told you he plans to make you fall in love with him,” Jadah said.

I’m…falling in love with her. The realization hits me with peaceful certainty, spreading through me with comforting warmth. My grandmother used to tell me the story of how she met my grandfather, how quickly they got engaged. It was a ridiculous story—less than two weeks from when they met to when he proposed—but she always told me, sometimes you just know. I couldn’t imagine how that was possibly true, but now, I believe it. I finally understand what she meant.

I’ll follow her anywhere. Whatever it takes. Whatever she wants. I’m hers.

We’ve kissed countless times over the past few weeks, and all of them have been amazing. Kisses that say I want you, I need you, even just I like you. But this is the first kiss to say I love you. And that makes it the kiss to rival all kisses.