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.

A shot of adrenaline fired through me at the sound, and I didn’t even think. I just ran. Not that I minded when her eyes roved over me. Gracie has never given me a second glance. I’d rather not date a woman who only wants me for my body, but if seeing me shirtless makes her notice me when she never has before? I’ll take it. I work hard enough to stay in shape. Might as well reap the benefits, however they come.

I ended up moving one of the armchairs in my living room up against the wall so I could sit and read and still be close enough to hear her.

I breathe out a sigh. “Something like that. 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. And if there’s ever been a time to remind Gracie of that, it’s right now.

A sudden—and probably ridiculous—desire to feed Gracie pops into my mind. She’s a grown woman. She doesn’t need me to feed her. But I can’t shake the vision of her coming home after a long day at school, kicking off her shoes, and coming into my kitchen where I’m already making her dinner, Bach’s cello suites playing in the background.

Like her touch woke up a part of me that was dormant, and now everything is brighter, sharper, more intense. Which is so cheesy I can’t even stand myself, but I genuinely feel like I was living in black and white until Gracie touched me and flooded everything with color.

I love them because they are my parents and that’s what we do. We love family even when it’s hard. Even when it’s complicated and messy and uncomfortable.

She’s playing Bach’s first violin sonata—my grandmother’s favorite piece. My favorite piece.

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

I can’t promise I won’t ever screw up again. But I can promise I will live every day trying my hardest to put you first—to love you like you deserve.