Chapter 1

When people tellyou they made something with love, they leave out the part about how it probably also involved blood, sweat, and tears.

Don't worry, I wouldn't let any of that drip into the cookies and milk I plan to sell out of my vintage Peugeot food truck, but I'll admit that I wince and whine when I cut my thumb on a sharp piece of metal by the vehicle's bumper.

"Ouch." I push my glasses up my nose and squint.

This labor of love is proving to be a little more dangerous than I thought. After getting a bandage out of the first aid kit I keep on board, I stand back and study my work.

Okay, fine, I'm admiring it.

The official Milk Mustache logo consists of a glass full of milk with a mustache and a pair of cookies, one with a nibble out of it. I didn't design the logo, but I took a risk and painted it on the Peugeot with special paint which has my head a little spinny. But it looks great if I do say so myself, though I'll have to double-check my handiwork when I've detoxed from the automotive paint fumes.

Brushing off my hands, I could go for a cookie with some milk right about now—a reward for my hard work.

No sooner do I near the back porch, one arm filled with paint containers and the other with the still-wet brush, when a Mercedes pulls into the driveway. My brother and his fiancée get out.

"If Grandma could see you now," Clancy calls, hooting.

I cock my head to the side because he actually wants eyes on his new set of wheels—the kind of car that no one in the Reid family could've fathomed rolling up in at this farm property. Grandma and Grandpa were modest, laboring types. Our parents put in long hours at their respective jobs. Until recently, I ran a boardroom filled with leaders in tech science. Unlike Clancy, I don't flaunt the contents of my bank account.

However, our grandmother grew up simply and appreciated the finer things in life, so she'd be delighted to take a zip in the Mercedes. I imagine she'd also be shocked to see me back in our hometown after I swore never to return to Cobbiton.

The fancy car is courtesy of Clancy's wife-to-be's dowry. Yes, she has one of those. Kathleen Wingate—yes, of the wine, estate, and hotel empire variety—blinks at me and then glances at my brother as if trying to tap into our special way of communicating.

I know every expression of his as well as my own, since we're fraternal twins. The one he wears at present is a combo of condescension and concern.

"What do I have on my face?" I brush my hand across my cheek and then run my forearm up my forehead.

"You are fit for neither man nor beast," he quips.

"No one asked you, hot shot." Though it sounds more like I say the word snot.

He chuckles. Some things never change, including our banter.

He and I are different in countless ways, including that I wear glasses. As if on cue, he calls me four eyes.

My stock reply comes off my lips effortlessly. "Four eyes are better than two." Just to keep things spicy, I stick my tongue out at him.

It's our schtick.

"Um, looks like paint on your face?" Kathleen asks as if I'm as absurd as a clown only wearing half her makeup and who forgot her rainbow wig.

Plastering on a smile, because my hands are still full, I tip my head toward them and then Pippy the Peugeot. "That's because I was painting."

"Didn't know that was a dangerous activity." Clancy points to my bandaged thumb.

"You know me, wielding paintbrushes like they're weapons. You'd better watch out." I angle it like a sword.

Kathleen steps ever so slightly closer to my brother as if I might attack. Let's be clear, I wouldn't. I've outgrown my rebellious, "Wild Whit" ways. Mostly.

Though I'm not going to lie, it would be funny to paint the Milk Mustache logo on the hood of their sleek Mercedes.

"That would be great advertising," I mutter.

"What?" Clancy asks.

"Nothing." I clear my throat. Yeah, I definitely inhaled too many paint fumes. "I was just heading inside for some milk and cookies. Want some?" I offer, using the manners Grandma taught me.

Kathleen waves her hands as if that's riskier than the purported paintbrush weapon. "I couldn't possibly have milk and cookies. I can't risk not fitting into my wedding dress."

"Actually, that's what we're here about." Clancy marches up the stairs and into our grandparents' old home as if it's not now mine.

"By all means." I extend my arm as if ushering them inside. With the abrupt motion, a drop of paint flies off the tip of the brush. My eyes widen with panic as it sails upward.

Please don't let it land on Kathleen.

Of course, it does, but it's on her bare calf. To my surprise, she doesn't flinch or attempt to swat at it like a mosquito. June in Nebraska can be fierce with stinging insects.

Crisis averted, mostly.

However, as she ascends the steps, the drop of paint proceeds to drip down her leg toward an expensive pair of flats with a gold buckle.

Inhaling, I do what must be done to save her sole...Using my hand without the bandage, I dab the paint with my finger.

She whirls around. "What are you?—?"

Not wanting to incriminate myself in a paint crime scene, I say, "Oh, um, you had a fuzzy caterpillar on your calf. Not sure if you're allergic."

Her perfectly smooth brow creases before she realizes wrinkles are as undesirable as her fear of not being able to fit into her wedding gown. "Thank you?" Her reply sounds more like a question than a statement.

"Just being a good sister-in-law and looking out for you."

Clancy flashes me a suspicious look, and rightfully so.

As twins, we went through various phases, starting with being best friends when we were kids. Then we realized we could get what we wanted from our parents by causing trouble and blaming the other. There was a brief hiatus in middle school when we joined forces. Then came high school. My brother abandoned me for the popular crowd. Not wanting to lose face, we basically pretended we didn't know each other.

It hurt because not only did I lose him, but his best friend who was by default mine too. However, looking back, that wasn't a real loss.

High school skyrocketed my athletic and popular brother to the top of the charts while I languished in the invisible land of Dorkdom before I put on a scowl and built walls, gates, and wore armor to keep people at a distance since they didn't seem to notice me. That way, being the rebel girl loner seemed like it was my idea to begin with.

Let's just say during my years slaying it in the Chicago business world, I also spent a decent sum on therapy and have a better handle on myself now. My therapist and I decided it's fair for me to blame Clancy and Redd, his best friend, for being jerky teenage boys, though. It helps me sleep at night.

Clancy got the best of high school society and now enters high society by marriage. I got the worst...and will probably be a lonely old spinster, whatever that is.

Do spinstresses still exist? What do they spin? My head still feels slightly spinny...

After I reconciled my angsty teenager phase, I entered the lady boss business world and bought into the lie that I didn't want someday to settle down and have a family. Those years in Chicago didn't satisfy the ache in my heart and now here I am. I wouldn't object to a husband, kids, and pets, too someday. However, so far, I'm back to living in my brother's shadow as he prepares for his big wedding.

Clancy knows full well that there wasn't a caterpillar on Kathleen's leg, but instead of forcing me to expose what happened, he gives his fiancée a gentle kiss on the cheek. I notice his hand is lightly on her waist. She closes her eyes a fraction and smiles, as if this simple gesture is enough to right all the wrongs in the world.

A sigh gets stuck in my chest. Nope. Not going there. I've been jealous of my twin's skills, gifts, and blessings my entire life and won't let myself come down with a case of comparisonitis.

Unlike me, life comes easily to Clancy Reid.

Not studying and getting good grades? Check

Having natural athletic ability? Check

Charming everyone with his charisma? Check

Earning big bucks without breaking a sweat or cutting his thumb? Check

Doing my best to shake off these thoughts and remind myself that I chose to come back to this suburb of Omaha, I pour three glasses of milk and set out a plate of cookies.

"Help yourself." I smile, knowing that my brother won't be able to resist.

He dips a peanut butter butterscotch oatmeal cookie into his cup of milk. His eyes practically roll back into his head after he takes a bite. "This is like Grandma's butterscotch cookie on steroids."

I'll take that as a compliment. "I combined that recipe with her peanut butter oatmeal cookie recipe. I call them Butter Butter Cookies."

Kathleen looks at me as if I experienced a glitch by repeating the same word twice.

"Double butter because of the peanut butter and the butterscotch," I clarify.

She's well-educated and I've heard her speak intelligently, but I sometimes wonder if her brain is mushy—could be damage from paint fumes. Though she's not a DIYer type, so I don't expect she'd ever paint a logo on a vehicle.

After helping myself to a cookie dunked in milk from Grandma's dairy cows, I say, "So, what brings you here on this fine day?"

With a mouthful of his second cookie, Clancy answers, "Mom and Dad said we can't get married."

My hand, locked and loaded for another bite, drops. "What? They can't do that. You're an adult."

"Right, but I honor their wishes so..."

Shaking my head, I say, "Clancy, that can't be right. The engagement thrilled Mom and Dad."

I recount the celebration party. Mostly, they're excited that Clancy is marrying into extreme wealth. Even so, as far as Mom is concerned, it's one down, one to go. The second one being me, always coming in second (or last). Mom hounds me about my (lack of) dating life every chance she gets. I've just never met someone who sends a certain spark through me. Well, at least not lately.

"They want us to postpone it until—" Kathleen's eyes fill with tears.

Clancy wraps his arms around her. "Baby, it's going to be okay. Don't worry."

Straightening, I'm about to march over to our parents' house—it's down the street—and ask them what is going on. Despite my questions about Kathleen's intelligence, she's sweet, and most importantly, she and my brother love each other. Why would our parents try to stop their wedding?

Exhaling, Clancy says, "Mom and Dad said we cannot tie the knot until," he swallows, "until you have a boyfriend."

I tilt my head to the side as if I didn't quite hear him. Maybe I was out in the sun too long or somehow ingested paint. To be fair, I kind of got it everywhere. My specialty is baking, not stenciling liquids onto the side of a vehicle.

"Mom and Dad want to see you find love too," Clancy says, as if that explains everything.

"But what does that have to do with you guys—?" I gesture between them, not quite able to connect the dots.

A long pause passes between us before Clancy blurts, "This proves our parents love you more than me. I always knew you were the favorite twin."

The corners of my lips drop. "Categorically no. There is no evidence of that. No precedent. You're the one they adored with all your successes, awards, and sports stuff."

Lips bunched together, he shakes his head. "Whit, you were the favorite child. That's why I did everything possible to be the popular guy, not cause trouble, and succeed in life."

"What are you talking about?" My thoughts slowly tumble as if our decades-long rivalry becomes clear. I was jealous of him and vice versa. We both acted the way we did in reaction to what we perceived about the other.

Oof.

Then I do the worst possible thing. I laugh. All the tears I've shed over being lonely, lost, and forgotten transform into a belly laugh.

Kathleen gapes, as if I'm off my rocker.

Clancy frowns. "Whit, I fail to see the humor in this."

"You and me have been going at it like cats and dogs because all along you thought they liked me more? Do you have any idea how wrong you are? How painful high school was for me because you were the superstar? How difficult it was to come back here after I worked so hard to get out of town?"

Clancy and I stare at each other. I calculate how far away the paintbrush is. I haven't washed it yet. I could draw a mustache on his face. It's automotive paint, maybe it'll remain like a tattoo. Then, he'll look like a goofball on his wedding day. I titter.

His gaze cuts toward Kathleen's still-full cup of milk on the table as if he's working out how quickly he can dump it over my head. Growing up, we were no strangers to food fights.

Kathleen's gaze volleys between us as if she's terrified she's about to witness a sibling civil war. Trust me, it's happened.

But we're adults now. I take a deep breath and let out a slow exhale, signaling an attempt at maturity. Clancy relaxes in his chair as if doing the same.

I say, "I'll go talk to Mom and Dad. They can't be serious."

Kathleen shakes her head. "We've tried everything. Your mother is afraid you're going to be single forever, so she wants to make sure you have a boyfriend before our wedding."

"Is being single such a bad thing?" I shrug.

I rather like this little life I have for myself. Sure, I'd love a family, but that seems so far away and out of reach I don't let myself entertain the idea. Plus, who'd want to date me? My scoreboard is zip, zero, zilch. I went out with a few guys in Chicago, but no one ever gave me that deep-down tug that made me want to get serious.

"We can help," Clancy starts.

Kathleen nods. "I know several eligible suitors."

"Suitors?" I look around, wondering if I've traveled back in time. They constructed this house early last century, after all. "Suitors like Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy?"

"We've already booked the wedding venue and everything is underway. We can't let this—" She goes quiet.

I'm about to protest because our parents are being irrational, but I know Clancy would never defy their wishes. Unlike me—at least when we were in our teens. I became a rebel without a cause. Thankfully, I've outgrown that. Generally.

As if they've talked about this at great length, Clancy and Kathleen describe several bachelors.

Shaking my head, I mutter, "I'm imagining the dating fails montage now."

"Please take this seriously, Whit. Do this for me, for us." The plea in Clancy's tone is unmistakable.

I don't agree to the ultimatum or to go on dates with Kathleen's suitors, but I don't argue anymore either. Hopefully, the wedding plans will distract Mom enough to make her forget about her silly stipulation.

I have milk and cookies to sell. But then something hits me...hard.

Clancy's best friend will be at the wedding. Likely in the wedding party and he is definitely someone I'd like to avoid. Maybe my being single and causing the wedding to be postponed isn't such a bad thing after all.