When I wake up, there’s a lump beside me in the bed, hogging all the covers. I rub the sleep from my eyes and stare at the blond head. It’s Dixie. Typical. I give her a nudge and yank back the blankets she stole. She groans and rolls over to face me. “I was comfy.”

“Of course you were,” I reply. “But it’s my bed. Go be comfy in your own apartment.”

“My bed isn’t as nice,” she replies and sits up, running her fingers through her wheat blond hair. “And Levi is at our place being the overprotective big brother. He needs to see for himself Eli is doing okay, so I can’t nap.”

“I still don’t understand why you two don’t get a real apartment,” I say as I sit up and yawn. I glance at the clock on my bedside table. It’s just before two in the afternoon. I’ve been asleep five hours. Sadly, it felt like two. Working until seven in the morning and then forcing myself into bed while the rest of the world starts their day isn’t easy, but it’s part of the job. “Eli makes a kajillion dollars a year. You can afford something bigger than that shoebox you live in. Like something with a proper bedroom.”

She shrugs. “We like my apartment. It’s cozy and has sentimental value. It’s where we first got together.”

“So what? You’re going to get married and have babies and raise them in four hundred square feet? There’s sentimental and then there’s stupid.” I stretch, and she uses the moment to yank the covers back over her tiny body. I grab them and pull them back, leaving her bare. She’s wearing leggings and an oversize sweatshirt, so she doesn’t need my covers.

“We’re not getting married or having babies,” Dixie replies.

I lift an eyebrow. “Ever?”

“No, I mean…not now.” She looks down at her hands in her lap. “I don’t know if he’s thinking about that yet.”

I laugh. “Are you kidding me?”

“No. I mean…well, it’s just we haven’t even talked about that,” Dixie explains, and her big blue eyes are wide with insecurity. “I know he loves me and I love him, but marriage might not be his thing. I don’t know. I mean, we talk about the future, but not in those definitive terms.”

I shake my head. “I’m not surprised. You guys never talked about moving in together either. He just got the full-time contract with the Thunder and moved his stuff into your place. Everyone thought he was staying there while looking for his own place, but that never happened.”

“We did talk about that…eventually. Well, he left me a note before a road trip and said he wanted to stay instead of getting his own place so it’s official now,” Dixie replies almost defensively. “I was never going to ask him to leave because I didn’t want him to.”

I smile at her. “No one expected you to ask him to leave. You two are perfect for each other. Even Mom isn’t concerned about how fast you guys got together, and you know she would tell you if she was. Hell, Ty and Winnie have been dating since high school, and Mom warned her to think twice when she was thinking about moving in with him.”

I get out of bed and walk over to my dresser. Dixie sits cross-legged on the bed, grabbing my pillow to stuff behind her back. “Yeah but Winnie and Ty were only, like, twenty-one when they talked about it.”

“Now she’s almost thirty, and I swear Mom would still tell her to think twice.” I grab some gray velvet sweats and tug them on as I glance up at Dixie. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Hell, yes,” Dixie replies easily.

“And no one is telling you that because you and Eli work. Hell, you more than work. You are soul mates, just like Jude and Zoey,” I say confidently. I knew from the minute I met Eli Casco that he was exactly what my sassy, OCD, tough-as-nails little sister needed. Even more so, he was what she deserved. He’s wild, kind, confident, respectful, and is protective of her. If things didn’t work out between them, I would be as devastated as she would.

Dixie’s uncertain expression falters and is replaced with a confident, radiant one. “He is my soul mate, and between you and me I want to marry him one day. And have babies. But until then, our apartment is fine.”

My stomach grumbles. The bowl of cereal I ate before falling into bed wasn’t enough. I rub my stomach, as if trying to placate it. Dixie notices, or heard the grumble, and looks at me seriously. “You’re not eating enough.”

“I know.” I’ve lost some weight in recent months. It’s partly stress about my dad and partly too many overnights at work. I use all my breaks for cat naps instead of meals. “Not on purpose. Come on, let’s get food.”

I walk to my closed door and she follows. “Wanna go out? We could grab sushi or burgers and shakes. My treat!”

“I can’t. I have plans later and have to get ready,” I say. I think about all the texts I’ve shared with Griffin, and butterflies take flight in my gut. I try to ignore them as we make our way down the hall toward the kitchen.

Winnie is in the dining room, sitting at the head of the table with a giant bowl of spaghetti and meatballs. I stop. “Carbo-loading before your next big fight with Ty?”

She tries to obliterate me with her eyes. Dixie giggles behind me, which only intensifies Winnie’s death-stare. We wander into the room, and both Dixie and I grab forks out of a drawer in the buffet and sit down on either side of Winnie. She ignores us and lifts a forkful of pasta to her mouth as we both dive in with our own forks. Dixie goes for a meatball and I twirl some pasta onto my fork.

“I thought you weren’t working tonight?” Dixie says to me.

“I’m not,” I say, confused.

“Oh…but I thought you said you had plans.”

I swallow my pasta and stare at her. Winnie uses the moment to pull her pasta dish closer to her and farther from us, but it stops nothing. As soon as she lifts her fork to her mouth again, Dixie leans over and grabs another meatball.

“I can do things other than work, Dix,” I remind her.

“You don’t, though,” Dixie counters, without an ounce of remorse.

Winnie nods. “She’s right. You don’t.”

“You two are assholes,” I say.

“Says the woman eating my damn lunch,” Winnie shoots back.

“We aren’t being cruel, just being honest,” Dixie tells me as she pops the last of the meatball into her mouth. “You don’t even look at men like they’re men, you know what I mean. They all might as well be statues. The only time I’ve even seen you do a double take in the last year was last night when…”

Why can’t I have stupid siblings who don’t know how to put two and two together? Why couldn’t I get all the brains in the family the way Winnie got all the culinary abilities and Jude got all the athletic talent? Dixie slaps her palm on the oak table so hard it makes the plate of spaghetti rattle. “Do you have plans with Sully?”

“Who is Sully?” Winnie asks.

“Griffin Sullivan.” Dixie is buzzing with excitement. “He’s Eli’s goalie coach and he’s tall, dark, and delicious.”

Winnie wrinkles up her nose. “Aren’t coaches like a hundred?”

“Not this one,” Dixie says. “Thirty-something. Eli says he’s a nice guy. He’s the quiet and mellow type, which Eli says makes for a great coaching style.”

“You told Eli I liked him?” I ask, ready to stab her with my fork.

“Oh, so you do like him?” Dixie says slyly and wiggles her eyebrows. “And no, I didn’t say a word to anyone. I’m just telling you what Eli has said about him in general.”

“It’s good Griffin is quiet,” Winnie replies. “Because Sadie won’t have to worry about shutting up. She can keep doing all the talking.”

“Ha. Ha,” I reply with zero humor.

“Is he your plans?” Dixie asks me as Winnie finishes the last of her pasta. “Please say he’s your plans.”

“It’s just coffee.” I relent, because as much as I don’t want to make this a big deal—yet—I like talking to my sisters about good stuff…and he is good stuff.

I stand up and walk out of the room. I’m barely two feet into the hall when I hear their chairs slide back and their feet stomping across the hardwood floors. They’re chasing me. I pick up the pace. I make it to my room at the end of the hall and start to close the door behind me, but those wily bastards manage to slip in before I can. Ugh. Here we go. I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.

“You have a coffee date? With Sully?” Dixie repeats for clarification as she drops her ass onto my bed. “I need all the details.”

“I offered to give him texts updates on Eli.” I shrug, feeling ridiculously self-conscious. “And while we were texting, he asked if I wanted to meet him for coffee.”

“And you said yes?” Winnie seems so blown away it’s comical. “Who is this wizard that he can turn you back into a red-blooded woman?”

I roll my eyes and walk over to my closet. What the hell do I wear? I spend most of my time in scrubs at work or at home in sweats and yoga pants with my family. Ugh.

“Holy shit.” Winnie gasps, and I spin to see her face buried in Dixie’s cell phone. “He is so delicious.”

“Who?”

“I pulled up pics of Sully.” Dixie smiles deviously. I jump across the room and lunge for the phone, scooping it out of Winnie’s hand. The picture on the screen is him in a suit walking behind some players in the arena. It must be prior to a game because they’re all in suits. Man, he was born to wear suits. Jude is also in the picture, but I ignore him and make the image bigger so I can get an unobstructed view of Griffin.

“I can see how he was able to pull you out of your self-imposed manbatical,” Winnie says and reaches for the phone. I let her take it, and she stares at him again. “Those are some seriously kissable lips. And those eyes are the definition of bedroom eyes, all sultry and…”

“Smoldering,” I finish for her, and she nods without taking her eyes off the screen. “Everything about his looks are smoldering, but it’s his personality that had me agree to the date.”

Both my sisters look up now, and I almost flush under their curious stares. “He’s charming and just made me feel…relaxed.”

“No bullshit,” Winnie says with a sincere grin. “I’m happy for you.”

“It’s just coffee,” I repeat, trying to convince both her and myself. “Now can you two skedaddle so I can get ready in peace?”

I start to push them off my bed, and they make their way to the door. “Don’t you want our advice on what to wear? How to do your hair? You are actually going to do it, right? Not just shove it into a ponytail like you’re a gym rat or an overtired mom of colicky triplets like you usually do.”

“Out,” I demand, and once they’re in the hall I shut the door and lock it.

I manage to find something to wear that doesn’t make me feel frumpy. Just a pair of dark skinny jeans and a pale gray, fuzzy, soft off-the-shoulder sweater Zoey got me for Christmas that I never had any reason to wear. I tug on some charcoal gray booties and actually do a pretty decent job with my makeup, even though the cosmetics are so old they should probably be thrown out. I dart into Winnie’s room on the way out and grab her cranberry colored MAC lipstick and manage to sneak by the den, where Dixie and Winnie have joined our parents, and get out of the house without having to say goodbye to any of them or answer more questions about the date.

The coffee shop he picked is a forty-minute walk away, but I’m early enough that I can do it, and the weather is too perfect to ignore. San Francisco is very different from where I grew up. In early March in Toronto it’s either raining or snowing and too cold to stroll the streets in just a sweater. But San Franciscans’ idea of cold is mildly chilly to me, and they get pockets of days all winter long, like today, where it’s sunny and downright balmy. I pull my sunglasses out of my bag, slip them on, and start my walk.

I get to the coffee shop with ten minutes to spare…I wait outside, not wanting to take up a table without a beverage, and waiting to order until he gets here seems like the thing to do. But twenty minutes later, he’s still not here. I glance at my phone—he hasn’t called or texted. I start to pace in front of the coffee shop window and then glance inside to make sure I didn’t somehow miss him and he’s already there. He isn’t.

After another ten minutes I start to get worried. Is he okay? Was there an accident? I walk inside and order a chai tea so I can sit down, because after the walk and waiting around, my feet are killing me. These booties are not even close to as comfortable as the sneakers I wear at work. As I sit at a small table in the corner by the window and sip my tea, I can’t help but entertain the startling and humiliating possibility that I’m being stood up.

My cheeks turn pink at the thought. Would he really do that to me? Why? This was his idea. What the hell…I glance at my phone and realize it’s been forty-three minutes since we were supposed to meet. Do I text him and ask if he’s okay, or do I assume the worst and send him a fuck-you text? I don’t know what to do—except leave. It’s time to leave.

I stand and walk to the garbage, tossing my now lukewarm tea in the trash. I push open the door. My phone rings. I freeze and pull it out of my back pocket. It’s Griffin.

“Hello?”

“Sadie, I am so sorry,” he says, his words a rush. “I was at work, and something came up—an emergency—and I was going to call you immediately, but I forgot my damn phone at home and I don’t know your number by heart. I even went back into the arena to see if I could find Jude and get your number from him, but he’d already left.”

“Are you okay?” I ask instantly because I can tell by his tone, remorseful and pained, that he isn’t making this up. Something happened.

“I’m fine; it’s a…family emergency,” he replies, and I think of my dad being sick and wonder if someone in his family is ill. “And it’ll be fine. I just had to meet my brother, though—like immediately—to sort this out. I…I know that makes me an asshole. I should have gone home first and gotten my phone, but I really had to get to his office. I was thinking of you, though, and how upset you’d rightfully be, and I don’t blame you if you want to tell me to fuck off right now.”

“I won’t do that,” I reply and lean against the wall outside the coffee shop. “I believe you that this was an unexpected, unavoidable stand-up.”

“Still, I am so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I say because I am starting to feel bad for him. “Is there anything I can do to help out with your emergency?”

“I wish,” he replies and sighs heavily. “I’ve just got…Well, my life is more complicated than I originally thought when I made the date…which is why I can’t schedule a do-over just yet.”

Wait…what?

Suddenly I feel like he’s changed his mind about me. My heart sinks, and the burn of rejection stings me, turning my cheeks red. “Oh. Okay.”

“I sincerely wish I could, Sadie.”

Is he sincere? I don’t know him well enough to recognize if he is or if he’s just good at acting like it. But my gut says this is an excuse.

“No problem,” I reply, and that burning feeling of rejection sparks my self-preservation instincts. I just want to end this call and put this failed attempt at dating behind me. “Maybe I’ll see you around a game. Take care, Griffin. It was nice meeting you.”

I hang up.

There is no point listening to him apologize or blow me off again. I don’t know what happened in his life, and he sounds like he is legitimately regretful that he can’t reschedule, but a blow-off is still a blow-off. It still sucks. I delete his number from my phone before calling a Lyft. And that’s that.