CHAPTER ELEVEN Jude

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Jude

@JasperRafferty: You never did tell me how the dress shopping went yesterday ...

@OliveMe: She said yes to the dress. We got drunk on champagne. It was a magical afternoon.

@JasperRafferty: Wow. Well, congrats to Annie.

@OliveMe: I'm happy for her. She deserves this.

@JasperRafferty: Everyone deserves to be happy.

@OliveMe: Yeah, well, not all of us get that.

@JasperRafferty: Rough day?

@OliveMe: Not sure yet.

@Jasper Rafferty: Well, if you ever want to talk, I'm here.

I watch the screen, waiting for her to respond, but after several minutes pass, I know she's not going to.

I push off the wall of the building I was leaning against and make my way to the coffee line I can't seem to stay out of, trying not to read too much into Olive's short answers.

She's probably just having a rough day. I'm sure that's it.

Maybe I should send her something to cheer her up?

I step up behind some guy, then pull my phone back out.

@JasperRafferty: How do chickens bake cakes? From scratch!

@JasperRafferty: Who takes care of chickens? Chicken tenders!

@JasperRafferty: What did the rooster say to the chicken? You're impeck-able.

@JasperRafferty: What do you call a haunting chicken? A poultry-geist.

@JasperRafferty: Okay, that's all the chicken jokes I know.

@JasperRafferty: Hope they cheer you up.

"Next!"

I step forward as the person in front of me inches toward the counter.

After two podcast sessions this morning and a Zoom chat with a studio executive about the Vancouver shoot in a couple of weeks, I'm in dire need of an afternoon pick-me-up.

"You've got to be kidding me ..."

An automatic grin pulls at my lips at the voice that's now become familiar.

I do a half turn, peeking over my shoulder at the woman standing behind me.

"Afternoon, Sunshine."

"Asshat," she says, crossing her arms over her chest in her usual defensive move, but her words are missing their usual bite. I think we've finally come to an understanding, she and I. "Stalk much?"

"You're behind me, so who is stalking whom?"

"That means nothing. You know I come here. Maybe this is your fourth time here today just so you can stalk me. I mean, your outfit is giving total stalker vibes, so it's possible."

"Has anyone ever told you that you think a little too highly of yourself?"

"Has anyone ever told you that you're an asshat?"

"You know, come to think of it ..." I tap my finger against my chin, then snap them, pointing at her. "You did."

She grins spitefully. "And I meant it."

I laugh. "At least you say what you mean."

"I'm nothing if not honest, unlike some people."

Her words smash a hole right into my stomach and fall deep down into a pit of unease, that same pit that's been there for days.

Guilt.

Over Olive. Over lying to her. Over impersonating my brother.

It's eating at me, and it's why I think I want to make her feel better, even if it is just by sending her silly chicken jokes.

"Sorry," Sunshine says. "That wasn't pointed at you. Other drama."

"I can't imagine you having drama with someone."

I'd bet good money that she just rolled her eyes. I wish I could confirm, but once again, she's hiding behind those massive sunglasses. Not that I have any room to talk, but at least I'm hiding for a good reason.

"So, am I going to see you here every day now?" she asks.

"I don't know. Are you going to stalk me every day?"

I'm only being a little serious. I'm not getting any bad vibes from her, but that doesn't mean it hasn't crossed my mind. I doubt it, though.

"You got me. I'm super obsessed with you. I'm just swooning into a puddle of lust with each tic of your sexy jawline."

"You think my jawline's sexy?"

Her face falls. "N-No. I didn't ..." She scowls, tightening her arms over her chest. "That's not what I meant."

Oh, but it is.

However, I'm going to let it slide.

Instead, I focus on her ridiculous shirt. There are about six different types of eggs on it. One is doing "egg-cercise" while another is clearly a deviled egg, horns and all. They keep going, from smiling to frowning, and one is even bent over in a pair of shorts, saying, Is my crack showing?

It's silly, and I absolutely love it.

"That's an egg-cellent shirt you're wearing."

I watch in wonder as she tips her head back, her entire body shaking as she lets out a loud, attention-pulling laugh.

I've not seen her laugh before—at least, not like this. Most of her laughs are derisive, but this one is the exact opposite. It's genuine.

I like it. A lot.

That same feeling of familiarity claws at me again, but I shake it away, too entranced by what I'm witnessing.

"Thank you," she says when she finally regains her composure. "It's one of my favorites. I've had it a long time, if that's not obvious by the fading."

"It suits you."

She tips her head to the side. "Suits me?"

"Yep. Especially the sunny-side-up one."

"Ah." She nods. "Sunshine."

"Yep. It just radiates off you."

It's funny because it's so not true. Not once in the three times that I've run into her now has she been anything other than thoroughly annoyed with me. I mean, I've always deserved it, but still.

"You know, it's funny because I actually am a nice girl. But there's just something about you that brings out the worst in me."

"Is it my sexy jawline?"

"You caught me. I'm just all kinds of riled up by your jaw."

But once again, her words are missing that usual bite of hatred. They almost seem ... real.

Huh. Interesting.

I go to take a step toward her, just to see if I can get a rise out of her, but I'm summoned by the guy behind the counter before I can.

"Next!"

I turn, ready to place my order, but I'm beaten to it.

"Black drip?"

I chuckle. "That predictable?"

He shrugs. "Most drip people don't stray far from their usual."

He grabs a cup, scribbles something on the side, then sets it next to the group of other cups waiting to be filled by his partner.

"Usual, Liv?" he asks, grabbing another cup, already scribbling what I assume is her name on it. "Danish too?"

"Please, Ric."

"You got it, sweetheart." He shuts off the nozzle and slides my coffee my way. "Two dollars and fifty cents."

"Hers too," I tell him, pulling my black Amex from my wallet. "And another danish for me."

"No, no, no," Sunshine says to him. "I can get my own."

I ignore her, shoving my card into Ric's hand.

"Don't you dare take that card, Ric," she seethes. "I swear, I'll ..."

"What?" I ask her. "Stop coming here? Then who will you stalk?"

Ric laughs, but it's cut off by the huff she sends his way. He turns his attention to the register, then hands my card back to me and begins to make her drink.

"I can buy my own coffee," she tells me.

"That's a long-winded way of saying Thank you."

She grits her teeth but manages to mutter a pained, "Thank you ... Asshat."

I laugh, then grab my danish off the counter. "It was good seeing you, Sunshine."

"Hmm," is her response. When Ric hands her the coffee, she grabs her treats and marches down the street in the opposite direction without another word.

It's not until I'm halfway to my apartment that I realize what's written on the side of my cup.

ASSHAT.

"You've been sitting here for two hours, you know," my sister says with a smile as she checks on me for the fourth time since I sat down.

To anyone else, it might seem like she's grinning down at the average customer.

But as someone who has known her for more than twenty-five years, I know that the smile plastered on her face is fake and she's dying to reach out and smack the back of my head.

She wants me gone, and I don't blame her. I've been sitting here taking up a table for two hours. It's frustrating for her, especially with how busy this place is, customers constantly coming and going. She doesn't need me here wasting space like I am. She's trying to run a business.

Problem is, I can't leave.

There are currently four paparazzi loitering out front, and I have zero interest in taking their bait.

I'm waiting them out. The last thing I need is for them to regularly park themselves outside my sister's bakery and cause problems for her.

Until they leave, I'm staying.

"You look like a total tool wearing those sunglasses in here. At least take them off."

"Fine." I tug them from my face but pull my hat down lower. This disguise has done a decent job of keeping the paparazzi off my back over the last week, but based on the circus outside, they've caught on to my tricks.

"You could sneak out the back," Cait murmurs.

"And miss this delicious free fudge?"

"It is not free," she practically growls at me. "I have a baby on the way that I have to support."

"Not even for your favorite brother?"

"Right now, I like Jasper more than I like you."

I feign hurt. "That's a low blow, Cait."

"It's the truth, Jude."

"You're my least favorite sister now, Cait."

"I don't care. Leave, Jude."

"You know," I tell her, stretching back into my chair, "these chairs are super comfortable. I think maybe I'll stick around for a bit longer. Could I get a few more pieces of fudge?"

Her eyes tighten on me, and I just know I'm going to hear about this later when she can properly yell at me.

"Sure thing, Mr. Rafferty."

She says that last part a little too loudly, and a few heads turn my way.

I grin at the people who've looked over at us with curiosity, then turn that grin toward my little sister. "You're off my Christmas list."

She gives me an equally fake saccharine grin. "Your presents suck anyway."

That earns a real gasp from me. "I took you to Vail!"

"So?" She shrugs. "Mom and Dad took me there first."

"You know, I was considering asking you to be my date for my movie premiere, but I think I'll take someone else now."

"Oh no. And miss a Hollywood event I didn't even want to go to? How will I ever survive?" She rolls her eyes. "I'll grab that fudge for you."

"S'mores!" I call out to her retreating back.

She waves me off, and I laugh.

It feels good to laugh, to banter with my sister and relax for just a moment. I've been so on these last few days, hopping from interview to interview—even throwing in a few photo shoots—at Dylan's insistence.

This small moment of normal with my sister is just what I needed.

Especially since I haven't been able to get my "normal" fix from Olive lately. She finally responded to my chicken jokes with a simple "lol," but I haven't heard from her since.

I know it's for the best, given the circumstances, but I can't help it—I miss her.

I liked talking with her about mundane things, like how her day was going or the little updates about her and Annie. It's been nice to not have to be on with her. She's never treated me like anything other than ordinary.

I want that.

"Here." Cait sets a fresh plate of fudge in front of me, and I know right away it isn't the flavor I asked for.

"I wanted s'mores."

"Well, tough damn tits. I sold the last piece to a paying customer."

"Is that what gets me the fudge I ordered? Money?" I pull my wallet from my back pocket and pluck free a crisp hundred-dollar bill. I slam it on the table. "S'mores now, please."

"We're out." She snatches the money off the table. "But I'll gladly take this."

"Hey!" I call out, but she's already walking away.

I take it back. I don't like this moment of normal. Now I'm out a hundred bucks and I don't get the fudge I wanted.

Siblings are the worst.

I pick up my fork and stab at the pile of sugary goodness on my plate, then shove a bite into my mouth.

Caramel flavor explodes over my tongue, followed by a hint of salt, and I grin.

Salted caramel. One of my favorites.

"She loves me," I mutter to myself before I shovel in another piece.

I chew, swallow, then wash it down with my coffee. Cait hasn't yelled at me for bringing JT's coffee into her shop. Probably because she knows just how delicious it is.

I keep my eye on the group of idiots outside while I enjoy the fudge and the coffee, which is how I'm able to spot the woman angrily heading for the shop.

Her head is down, but there is no mistaking that this woman is mad. It's clear in her stiff shoulders, in the way she's moving so fast that the long mustard-yellow dress clinging to her curves flows behind her as she blazes her way into the shop.

She pushes the door open so hard it slams against the wall, and everyone inside freezes, me included.

I pause, the fork halfway to my mouth, as she scans the customers. Thanks to the sunglasses covering her face, I only know this because of her head slowly swiveling around.

I know this woman. How do I know this woman?

She continues her perusal, her shoulders somehow growing tighter and tighter as she looks around. She takes a step forward, approaching a table for only a moment before retreating without saying a word. Another table draws her attention, but she moves on quickly.

People are staring at her as she stares back at them, looking hard at every person. Clearly looking for something.

For someone.

Then her eyes land on me, and I only know it because I can feel her heated gaze through her sunglasses.

Her back straightens. Her body goes rigid. Then her hands clench into fists at her sides as she marches across the shop, not at all caring about the attention she's drawing.

She halts in front of my table.

She tips her head to the side, studying me from behind her glasses. It's eerie. Not because of what she's doing, but because there's just something about her ...

Her head drops and it's obvious she's looking at the cup on the table, the one I got from the coffee truck this morning.

The one that says ASSHAT across the side.

Her mouth drops open on a gasp. "It's you."

That voice. I know that voice. It's so familiar. So—

Holy shit.

She pushes her sunglasses to the top of her head, and my entire world tilts. So many things begin clicking into place, and yet so many questions arise at the same time.

It's Olive.

It's Sunshine.

Sunshine is Olive.

The woman whom I cut off in line—then let cut me off—is the same one I've been messaging with for the last few days.

I ... I know all her secrets. All her hopes and dreams and every little fear.

This is bad. This is really fucking bad.

Her lips curl in disgust. "I ... I don't even have the words."

Her blue eyes—how is it even possible for eyes to be that blue?—bounce between my green ones, and I see the second it all clicks into place for her.

She knows.

I'm Jasper.

I'm Asshat.

I'm Jude.

And suddenly, I'm all caught up in the web of lies I've been weaving.

"No." Her long brown hair swishes as she shakes her head. "No, no, no."

"I . . ."

"H-How? How could you, you . . . you . . . asshat!"

A smile tugs at the corner of my lips, and I know immediately it's the wrong reaction to have to this situation.

The same eyes I've gotten lost in so many times over the week—as I've continued to scroll through Olive's Instagram—light with fire, and I know I'm about to get scorched.

"Um, hi," I say, sliding my gaze around the bakery. We have the full attention of every patron. People are turned around in their chairs and staring at us, fully invested in the show that's playing out before them.

I might love acting and performing, but not like this.

I stand, stepping closer to her, but she stumbles backward and away from me.

"‘Hi'? Hi? That's all you're going to say to me?"

"Sunshine, I—"

"Don't call me that!"

I swallow thickly. "Okay, Liv."

She holds her hand up. "Don't call me that either. In fact, don't call me anything, ever. This"—she wags her finger between the two of us—"whatever sick game you were playing, it's over. Delete the messages and delete me from your life."

She huffs in disgust, then turns on her heel and stalks out of the bakery just as quickly as she stormed in, leaving nothing but chaos in her wake.

The paparazzi outside go wild, snapping photo after photo, their flashing bulbs illuminating the bakery and me.

Cait, the amazing sister that she is, rushes to close the door, blocking me from view. I'm still standing in the middle of the shop with my mouth dropped open, looking like the absolute jackass I am.

Did that just really happen?

My sister inches through the bakery, sending her customers soft, reassuring smiles.

"Jude," she says as she approaches, that sweet smile not wavering, "what just happened?"

"It was nothing," I lie.

"Was that ... Was that the Instagram model Olive O'Brien?"

Her words shock me. "You know her?"

"No. I mean, sort of. I just started following her after I saw her name on your phone." She shrugs. "I was curious." Cait steps closer, whispering, "Are you dating her?"

"No. I ..." I'm not dating her. That's not what this is. But it's also not nothing. Is it? "I need to talk to her. I need to fix it."

"But the cameras . . ."

"I don't have any other option, Cait. I have to go."

The same green eyes I have—a family trait—study me for several seconds until she finally nods.

"Okay. All right. Just ... go out the back, will you? This is my place of business, Jude. I don't care if you're my brother. If you bring any more drama in here, I will ban you."

And I have no doubt she means it.

"Noted, little sister."

No matter how badly she wants to be annoyed with me right now, her lips twitch as she shakes her head at me. "You're exhausting."

"And you love me." I send her a wink, then turn toward the captivated audience. With my best, most charming Rafferty grin, I announce, "Treats are on me today!"

"Jude!" Cait admonishes, but it's pointless—people are already cheering and lining up at the counter to collect. I slide my card over to her, and she stares at it for several seconds before reluctantly taking it with a glare pointed my way. Then she rushes away to the counter, where she's desperately needed.

While she's distracted, I make my escape, flying right out the front door and into the fray because I need to find Olive. I need to fix this.

Paparazzi be damned.