The Babysitting Mistake That Became Love

Just then my phone dinged: a friend request.

"Hi, I'm Ethan Grant."

I was in trouble. I didn't even want to accept.

Ding—another message.

"My sister says she really misses you, asked how you've been."

Ha—little rascal, threats?

You think I’m scared?

I was.

I quickly accepted the friend request and labeled him "little rascal Ethan."

"Tell your sister I'm fine. Working hard every day. Tell her and my mom not to worry."

"Little rascal Ethan: OK. That'll make my sister feel better."

I snorted and switched to another chat.

"Mr. Zhao, I'd like to introduce an intern. If you hire him, I'll do the internal controls analysis free next quarter. How about that?"

"Perfect! Thank you, Ms. Bennett! Have him start tomorrow!"

Done.

Tomorrow Ethan would be interning at a company five districts away from me.

I exhaled, thinking I'd finally be rid of him. I was too naive.

The next morning I’d barely arrived at the office when Maya came over, winking.

"Claire, your taste is something else."

"Of course."

I accepted the compliment, not knowing why she was flattering me—until I rounded a corner and my brow jumped.

Ethan was standing at my office door.

But instead of the ragged look from last night, he was in a suit and tie, soft as cotton as he greeted us, "Good morning, Ms. Bennett. Thanks, Maya."

With that earnest little smile, Maya blushed and ran off giggling.

I stared, baffled. "Why are you here?"

"I'm here to intern."

"Did Mr. Zhao at XX Company contact you?"

"He did, but I declined. I thought I'd be a better fit here—my sister agreed."

Of course he pulled out his sister as proof.

"I'll follow you around every day and learn properly," he said, all sincere.

How was I supposed to be reassured?

I was at the water cooler, filling a cup when my hand shook at his words and I spilled hot water on my hand.

"Be careful."

Ethan immediately stepped in, grabbed a paper cup, poured cold water, and dunked my fingers into it. He scolded, "You've always been such a worry—still the same now."

Taking advantage of his leaning in, I pinched his still-chubby cheek, grumpy.

"How old are you? I'm the sister here, okay? You can intern, but keep things strictly professional, understood?"

He held my hand, grinning. "Understood. Don't worry, I'm the most obedient."

His syrupy tone made the goosebumps stand up on my arms. I frowned and looked up—and he wasn't looking at me.

He was looking at the door.

Maya stood frozen there. I went rigid too.

Oh no—Ethan was playing the big green-tea move on purpose.

Imagine it from Maya's point of view: the new intern and the department head leaned close, the intern pressing the director's fingers into ice water with one hand and placing the other on her knuckles, while the director pinched the intern's chubby cheek.

Weird as hell.

Maya got tongue-tied. "Sorry, Ms. Bennett… I came to—um—ask if you wanted me to file the intern's paperwork. I didn't mean to interrupt."

I looked at Maya, exasperated. "He's my childhood friend's little brother. He's a first-year graduate student at Westfield University—capable, so I recommended him."

Maya nodded vigorously. "Oh, I know. Don't worry, I didn't think anything. I won't tell anyone." She made a zipper-mouth gesture and left, resolute.

"What if Maya misunderstood our relationship?" Ethan sounded thrilled by the drama.

I caught the smile at his lips and smiled back, steel beneath it.

Then I squeezed hard.

"Ouch!"

Ethan clutched his cheek, pouting.

"Get out—go file your onboarding!"

That afternoon, the CEO came into my office trying not to laugh.

He told me the whole company was buzzing that I'd made the new intern's face red—was it true?

I sighed. With Ethan Grant around, every day was a new social death experience.

No sooner had I sighed than something worse happened.

Maya came over, "Ms. Bennett, the client wants to talk with you."

I waved her off. "We're closed. Tomorrow morning."

"It's… the client from last night. He wants to treat you to dinner tonight—and maybe sign the contract."

Of course—Mr. Shaw again.

I really didn't want to go. Dinner meant being forced to drink. But if I didn't go, we'd risk losing the contract.

"Fine. Let's go."

Before leaving the office I told Ethan, "Finish up and go home."

He packed his backpack in two moves and followed me. "I'm coming with you."

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to stop anyone from forcing you to drink."

I snorted. "You? An intern, stopping drinks?"

"What's wrong with being an intern? Do you look down on interns?"

He wasn't done arguing.

"I don't look down on you—but the client won't listen. He'd force the director to drink. Even Maya couldn't stop him—let alone you."

"Fine, go home then. Report to your sister properly about your internship."

"Remember what to say and what not to say!"

I nagged as we walked. But of course Ethan wasn't going to obey.

I barely got into the car when he opened the other door and squeezed in.

"Driver, let's go."

He told the driver like it was normal.

"Kid, this is not a game. The workplace isn't what you think," I said.

Straightening, he looked at me. "Claire, I'm not playing around. I'm not a kid. I'm grown. I can protect you."

Looking into his eyes made me blink. When we were little, kids played house, and Ethan used to cry that the boys in the yard couldn't play. I told him everyone was the same, it was just play. He acted like the sky was falling, saying he wasn't playing—that he was serious, that I could only play house with him.

After that we stopped playing. I started avoiding him.

So back then, when Ethan acted so sweet, did he have other feelings for me?

Before I could think more, we were at the restaurant. Mr. Shaw was already waiting. He grabbed my hand the moment I arrived. "Ms. Bennett, didn't you have a late night yesterday? Glad you could make it."

So that's why he dangled the contract.

I smiled. "Mr. Shaw, it's our honor to provide services to your company. Let's sign the contract first."

He squinted and smiled like a predator. "Chill, director—eat, drink, then signs."

He squeezed my hand.

Ethan couldn't stand it. He stepped forward, "Hello, Mr. Shaw."

Mr. Shaw ignored him.

Ethan staged a stumble, just a little, and his flailing hand slapped right onto Mr. Shaw's hand—reddening the back and finally making him let go of mine.

"This is our Ethan—he's clumsy. Sorry about that, Mr. Shaw."

I gave Ethan an approving look, but immediately regretted it.

I shouldn't have let this little rascal climb up the ladder like that.

Earlier, I downed the first few rounds in one go.

While choking it back, I also had to pry Ethan’s hand off me and shoot the little rascal a warning glare to keep him from getting handsy.

But not long after, I started to falter. My stomach ached faintly—last night’s buzz hadn’t fully worn off.

That’s when Mr. Shaw strolled back over with that greasy smile.

“Claire, you see, partnering with us means turning down the renewal from your previous partner. That puts us in a tough spot. So you have to show real sincerity,” he said, and at the same time began pouring hard liquor into my wine glass.

“We’re sincere, more than that—we’re professional. Don’t worry,” I managed, putting on a wobbly act and pretending to guard the rim of my glass.

But Mr. Shaw pulled my hand away, grabbed a bottle of yellow wine, and started pouring again.

“Oh Claire, whether we’re professional you’ll see once we cooperate, but right now, we need to see your sincerity.”

His fat lips curled into a lecherous grin.

Seeing him so bloated and smug made my stomach churn. I wanted to puke on his shiny forehead.

Red, white, yellow—he filled my glass to the brim with everything.

Ha. Pretty clear he wanted me to leave in a blaze.

Could I just dump the glass in his face?

No. I couldn’t. I still had to suck up to this awful client like he was my doting grandfather.

I took a deep breath, steadied myself, and lifted the glass.

“You can clearly see our sincerity. Fine, I’ll finish this. Help yourself,” I said, closing my eyes and preparing to swallow it down in one go.

Someone grabbed the glass.

I turned and saw Ethan holding my cup, head tilted back as he chugged, brow furrowed until his handsome face contorted.

The cup was enormous; halfway through, Ethan paused and collected himself, then finished it off.

The little rascal was putting himself on the line for me. I frowned in spite of myself.

“Hey! Who are you?” Mr. Shaw bawled, ready to bark.

I figured Ethan, new to the world and having just downed that much liquor, would be surly. Instead, he smiled obediently. “Mr. Shaw, I’m Ethan Grant, Claire’s assistant. It’s an honor to have a drink with you.”

Mr. Shaw scowled at me. “Claire, that’s not very fair. Bringing an assistant to drink with me—are you looking down on our company? I guess the contract discussion is off, then.”

I inwardly scoffed—bringing out the contract as pressure. Go ahead, say no to working together; he doesn’t have the authority.

I plastered a smile on and quickly backpedaled. “Mr. Shaw, don’t misunderstand.”

Ethan jumped in before I could finish. “No, Mr. Shaw, our company values your firm highly. We even reviewed your previous partner’s records. Per regulations, their contract years are up, so renewing would be a trap for you. Plus, they took a big fine last year—surely you wouldn’t want to continue with them.”

I glanced at Ethan, surprised—he seemed to know a lot.

But those messy details, while an open secret, aren’t something you throw out in public.

Sure enough, Mr. Shaw’s face flushed.

“Claire, what do you mean by your subordinate saying that? Is that how you manage your staff?”

I hurriedly lifted my wine glass and refilled it. “Mr. Shaw, don’t be upset. Young Ethan’s new—he’s naive. That last cup’s on me; I’ll drink with you.”

Ethan grabbed the glass back, ignoring my 360-degree glare.

“Mr. Shaw, that was a poor choice of words on my part. Don’t blame Claire. What I meant is this: your company is powerful and we are sincere—this partnership will be mutually beneficial.”

“And—Claire cares about you so much she sent me to drink with you. Not to hide it, but I am her subordinate—and I’m also her boyfriend. If she owes you a drink, as her boyfriend I should drink for her. This one’s for you!”

Huh?

Did the little rascal just say what I thought he said?

He chugged, then left Mr. Shaw and me staring at each other.

“Claire, he said he’s your boyfriend?”

“…I guess?” I answered, because I was hearing it as much as Mr. Shaw was.

Mr. Shaw clearly didn’t believe it. He snorted. “Claire, if you don’t want to drink with us, just say so—no need to lie. How old is this Ethan? He’s years younger than you, right?” He looked to me for confirmation, waiting for me to comment.

I looked at Ethan. He smiled at me, expecting me to play along.

Damn it—classic green tea move, totally deliberate.

Even if it hurts me a thousand times more than it hurts him, I rolled my eyes for the hundred millionth time and turned to Mr. Shaw with exaggerated nods.

“That’s right. Ethan is my boyfriend—here to show his face to you. He’s younger than me, sure, but age-gap romances are so sweet. Who doesn’t want to be a pop-star-level couple these days?”

“Mr. Shaw, we’re made for each other—you won’t object, will you?” Ethan said, looping an arm around my waist.

I shot him a look. He was taking liberties and playing the charmer, but I kind of loved it.

Mr. Shaw coughed awkwardly and then put on a lecherous grin. “If he’s your boyfriend, then we’ll all drink more.”

“To you, Mr. Shaw!” Ethan toasted.

All night Ethan took a lot of Mr. Shaw’s booze for me, blocking drinks pushed my way. By the time we left, the man was tipsy and wobbling.

I got Ethan into a cab and tried to drop him off at his place, but he refused to get out.

“Come on, little brother, get out,” I coaxed.

“No, no, I won’t leave you, Claire,” he whined, clutching me and burrowing into my arms.

I pushed at his fuzzy head. “Okay, okay—we won’t part. I’ll carry you up and tuck you in before I go. Is that okay?”

“No, I’m too drunk, I feel awful—what will you do if I throw up and choke?” he sniffled.

He had a point. If he got sick, I’d have to help him.

“All right. Then come to my place first.”

I’d barely said it when I realized: he wasn’t actually that out of it. His thoughts were clear.

“Ethan, wake up—stop pretending to be drunk!” I pinched his chubby cheek.

He kept his eyes closed, frowned, and brushed his head against my shoulder. After a moment, he mumbled sleepily with a smile, “Claire, I really am drunk.”

Yeah right. Such a scheming green tea.

For putting himself in front of me all night, I decided to indulge him.

“Driver, please take us to Westfield Commons,” I told the app.

At the time I didn’t realize what games the little rascal had in mind. Later, I regretted that decision more than anything.

Getting a drunk Ethan to wash up was nearly lethal.

After finally scrubbing him clean and tucking him into the spare room like an overbearing mom, I covered him and went to shower. My hands trembled from exhaustion.

“One long day of work is finally over!” I flopped onto my soft, big bed and turned over.

Something felt wrong.

There was someone else in the bed beside me.

I yelped and sat bolt upright, about to flick on the light, when a hand clamped over mine.

“Good sister…before the day ends, isn’t there something else you want to do?” he murmured.

I looked up into moonlight and met a pair of bright, sparkling eyes.

“E-Ethan, weren’t you drunk?” I asked, suddenly trembling.

He leaned in until his breath tickled my neck. “I’m drunk. Isn’t that the perfect chance for you to do whatever you want with me?”

“How could I be the type to take advantage?” I protested. “Go to sleep, be good.”

I reached up shakily and smoothed his hair. He clicked his tongue and said, “Then let me be that kind of person who takes advantage.”

Before I could react, he had my wrists pinned above my head and his weight pressing me down. His breath hovered over my lips. He nibbled the tip of my nose, and sensing my tremble, smiled lazily.

“If you don’t like it, push me away,” he murmured, as if certain I wouldn’t.

“You’ve got both my hands—how do you expect me to push you away?!” I protested.

Ethan paused, chuckled softly, and freed one of my hands. I started to pull it back to shove him, but he guided my hand down along his torso until my fingers rested on his gleaming abs.

My heart lurching—these felt alarmingly good.

How could I bring myself to push him away now?

Just as I struggled with the turmoil, Ethan whispered near my ear in a soft, moist voice, “Please don’t push me away, Claire.”

Those words detonated inside me.

I gave in and nodded reluctantly. “…Okay…”

After so many years, I was the first to cave.

“Be good, sister—relax,” he purred.

I planned to slip away early the next morning, but someone was quicker.

“Morning, Claire.” I was already at the entry when Ethan called out behind me.

“Morning,” I replied awkwardly.

“Come eat breakfast,” he said, chewing on a fried dough stick like a little rascal.

He actually looked the part.

“I can’t—got a morning meeting,” I said, turning to leave.

He sat down, nodded, and asked, “Claire, I don’t want to go to the internship today. If I ask Maya for leave, what should I say?”

I returned to the table and sat. “Why take a day off? It’s only your second day.”

“Claire, I drank too much last night. I’m exhausted,” he whined.

“Drank too much? Exhausted? I thought you were…very energetic last night,” I teased.

Ethan smirked. “That’s why I’m tired.”

Oh, bite me.

I gritted my teeth, but then I remembered he had taken so many drinks for me. Wanting him to rest was reasonable.

“Tell Maya the truth—say you have something at school and can’t make it.”

“Isn’t that lying?” he said, playing innocent.

“What else do you want me to say?”

“I’ll just say it like it is,” he said, leaning over to scrape a bit of fritter from my lip. “Last night I was with Claire drinking, and I was too tired afterward.”

I nearly sprayed soy milk out my nose. “No way! If you say that, my polished image at work will be ruined!”

Even though it was already pretty wrecked.

Ethan looked at me, the smile at the corner of his mouth pulling in.

"Claire, you don't want anyone to know about us?"

"Us, what rela—"

"Ship."

Before he could finish the word, I could tell something was off with Ethan's expression.

"Oh, modern youth. Even if you sleep with someone, you don't necessarily have to take responsibility, right? You're still in school, but you're an adult now."

Ethan frowned. "Claire, you don't want to be responsible for me?"

???

I meant to reassure him—no need to twist yourself into knots to be responsible for me.

How did that turn into me suddenly being the one who pulled up my pants and denied everything?

"No—"

"Claire, you already called me your boyfriend in front of Mr. Shaw yesterday. Are you going to go back on your word, break your promise, be untrustworthy?"

I forced a laugh. "No need for so many idioms… Last night was just a spur-of-the-moment thing."

Ethan stood and crossed the table toward me.

A six-foot-something frame leaned over me and, somehow, felt oppressive.

"Claire, I'm not a spur-of-the-moment thing. I really—" he looked at me and spoke each syllable carefully, "really like you. I want to be with you. I want to be your boyfriend."

I swallowed. "Little rascal… wait, Ethan, are you serious?"

"Serious."

"But I'm eight years older than you, I used to carry you when you were little—do you still think we're playing house like kids?"

"When I was a kid, playing house was serious. You were the mom, I was the dad. We were one family. You can't like anyone else."

Case closed. The little rascal had been pining for me since we were kids—clamoring that I couldn't play with other kids was his first move.

"But you're too young…"

I rubbed my forehead. I like playing with younger guys, but I didn't plan on making it real.

Ethan pulled my hand impatiently. "Claire, if you talk about when we were kids, sure, the eight-year gap is big and you not liking me then made some sense."

"But now I'm grown. I'll graduate soon, get a job in a couple years—there'll be no difference between us. I can protect you."

That was true.

Seeing me nod, Ethan kept going. "Think about it—you're already a director at such a young age, with subordinates older than you. Long-term, age doesn't matter. What matters is capability."

I pulled my hand free, crossed my arms, and scrutinized him. "Are you very capable?"

Ethan took a breath, looking aggrieved. "Wouldn't you know? You really think I'm too young, Claire? Do you?"

His tone tilted flirtatiously—was he teasing me?

He looked utterly innocent, which left me with nowhere to go: scold him or play along. I sighed and nodded helplessly.

Beauty really is dangerous.

"You agree then, Claire!"

Of course—not yet. There was one huge problem.

"What about your sister? If she finds out her family's good cabbage was… no, her best friend's brother got snatched by their own pig, she'll kill me."

Ethan's sister, Sophie Grant, was fiercely protective. She'd spoiled him since childhood—made me babysit him, asked me to find him internships. If I actually turned Ethan into a boyfriend, I couldn't be sure Sophie wouldn't abandon twenty-plus years of sisterhood to hunt me down and make me regret it.

"Claire, don't worry. I'll talk to my sister…"

I read his lips and cut him off. "You cannot tell her. No way."

"Huh?"

I put both hands on Ethan's shoulders. "Let me digest this first. Find a better time and we'll tell her slowly."

Honestly, I thought maybe in a few days we'd get sick of each other, fight, break up, hurl melodrama and block each other—this secret little sibling romance would be a thing of the past, and I'd avoid Sophie oncoming wrath. My little plan sounded brilliant in my head.

Apparently someone else had already set their plan in motion.

A few days later, Maya came over whispering in my ear.

"Claire, everyone's saying you and Ethan are together."

I put down the report in my hands. "Did Ethan tell you?"

"No—Mr. Shaw told me, said your little boyfriend can really drink and to bring him the next time we go out."

I forced a smile. Contracts signed and still trying to use my little rascal? Dream on.

"Of course I checked with Ethan too."

Maya giggled. "I asked him forever and he finally admitted it."

I raised an eyebrow—he probably couldn't wait to tell her so she could tell the whole office.

"What did he say?"

Maya plopped down. "Ethan's a good kid, but when it comes to you, he's insecure."

Insecure?

When has that little rascal ever been insecure?

"If you're so excellent, the more he likes you the more nervous he gets, afraid you'll dislike him. He begged me to watch you."

"Watch me?"

"So you won't go flirt with other boys."

Pfft—of course, he was playing the pity card and recruiting allies.

When I scoffed, Maya got anxious. "Really, Claire, stop looking for other boys. Ethan's a good guy. Just wait for him to grow up."

I had a mental facepalm. "Wait for him to grow up? I'm only a few years older!"

"Yes, yes!" Maya smiled along. "Ethan told me he really is your childhood friend's brother and liked you since he was little. He studied his way to Seattle to be closer to you, and you haven't seriously dated either—you've been waiting for him, right?"

The girl was floating in pink clouds. "This is true love!"

"Get out of here with that mush," I snapped, waving her away.

I tried to pick the report back up but couldn't focus. Was I really waiting all these years? Was I secretly afraid of him because I liked him too? Ugh—goosebumps.

Just then my "little rascal" pinged me.

Ethan: Sis, done with work?
I've got my school stuff sorted, want to pick you up?

Me: Go home first. I need to work an extra half hour.

Ethan: That's fine. I'll grab a milk tea on the way. Perfect timing.

Me: No milk tea, I'm dieting. Don't come to the office—you'll get chatty with Maya.

Ethan: [heartbroken] Being shunned by my sister.

Sigh.

Me: The outfit you ordered arrived today. If you drink milk tea you'll be too fat to fit into it.

Ethan: !!!
I'll obediently go home and wait for you!

I shook my head. Months in and he still hadn't worn out.

No wonder I hadn't either.

Just as I picked the report back up, another message from Ethan came.

Ethan: Oh, I forgot to say—my sister's coming tonight. She said she's staying with you like always.

!!!

Sophie was coming? And staying at my place?!

If she saw Ethan and me together, she'd—kill me.

When Ethan called, his voice was still bright. "Sis, I'm home and I grabbed the package. Seriously, that outfit will look—"

"What outfit? Your sister's coming. Do you have time to talk clothes?" I nearly shook.

My hands trembled, a mix of fear and embarrassment.

"Ethan, pack up now. Right now. You and all your stuff need to be gone from my apartment before your sister arrives."

"Ethan…you don't want me anymore?"

Hearing the hurt in his voice made me realize I’d been sharp. I can't do bad things in peace—Sophie wasn't even here and I was about to die of anxiety.

"Good little brother, don't be silly. I don't mean I don't want you. You know your sister. If she walks in and finds I turned you into my boyfriend, she'll tear me apart. Go hide for a bit."

"I can tell her…"

"No. Don't tell her. Let her settle in, and let me deal with it first."

I practically begged, terrified Sophie would stir up trouble. Ethan reluctantly agreed.

Still uneasy, I bolted after work and bumped right into Sophie, luggage in hand.

"Bestie! I've missed you so much!"

Sophie flung herself at me. Previously, I'd have dodged—public PDA wasn't our style. But guilty conscience won. I hugged her back, flashing a practiced smile.

Sophie stepped back and scanned behind me. "Where's my brother? Didn't he get off work with you?"

Already asking about Ethan.

"He's an intern. I told him not to strain himself—he had school stuff today, so he skipped work."

Sophie linked her arm through mine, eyes sparkling. "Claire, what do you think of my brother? What's he like?"

She meant work ability, right?

"He's great—steady, hardworking, solid skills. Really promising."

"What? That's it?"

Sophie looked disappointed. "That's it?"

That's a high praise from a boss. I didn't have time to deal with her reaction. My mind raced: had Ethan cleared out the apartment? I couldn't let Sophie find anything.

I slowed my steps. The office wasn't far; in a minute we were there.

I barred the door. "Wait here a sec."

I cracked the door and peered inside.

That kid could be decent when he wanted to be — his backpack and laptop were gone from the living room, and his clothes on the balcony were folded and put away.

I nodded in satisfaction.

"Claire, good thing I've been to your place before. Otherwise I would've thought you were breaking in," Sophie said breezily as she opened the door, ushering me inside while dragging my suitcase.

"I'll put my bag in the bedroom, then take a shower," she announced.

When Sophie was at my place she acted like it was her own house, always curling up and making herself at home in whatever bed she could.

That's what worried me!

Someone else had slept in my bed!

And it's her brother! (Why did that sound so weird out loud?) I planted myself in front of my bedroom door with an awkward smile. "Uh, Sophie, maybe you could sleep in the spare room this time?"

"Why?"

"Well… just…"

Why? Because I'm terrified your adorable little rascal left something in my bedroom.

"Hmm? Claire, you're acting weird," Sophie said, arching an eyebrow as she stepped closer.

"Could it be—"

Before I could finish, Sophie pushed me aside and flung open the door.

"Are you hiding a man in here?!"

Of all the nerve!

I was literally about to take a sneaky peek to see if little rascal Ethan had at least cleaned up the essentials in the bedroom!

Now Sophie had seen it first.

I hurried after her.

Luckily, the bedroom was tidy.

I let out a breath of relief — the kid was usually decent if he wasn't trying to pull something.

"Hey? What's this outfit…" Sophie peered at a delivery box on the bedside table.

!!!

What else could it be?

It was the outfit her brother had agonized over picking out and sent me!

Ethan, you little menace, I'm going to kill you!

"Claire, do you actually have a boyfriend?! And he's… quite bold!" Sophie gaped at me in disbelief.

I shot her a disbelieving look back. "No, you're imagining things. I grabbed the wrong delivery. I was just going to return it."

"Oh." Sophie nodded blankly, not sure whether to believe me, and plopped down in a nearby chair.

After a long beat, she looked melancholic. "Claire, if you like someone, just tell me. It's okay."

I pursed my lips. It really was fine — except that he happened to be Sophie's brother.

Sophie grabbed my hand. "I was going to try to set you up, but maybe it's not meant to be. Still, Claire, I'm happy for you."

Her words sent a chill up my spine.

"Huh? Sophie, you— you wouldn't… like me, would you?" I blurted.

Sophie looked stunned into silence.

I awkwardly backpedaled. "Look, we've been childhood friends! I'm not saying I don't like you, but I'm straight. Sorry."

"What the heck, Claire! Did you think I was confessing to you?!" Sophie laughed, shoved me onto the bed, and started roughhousing. "Don't be conceited. Do you really think I turned gay for you?!"

I huffed. "Don't say things like that out of nowhere — it's hard not to read into it!"

We were horsing around when Sophie froze.

"Huh? This sweatshirt…"

What now?

Sophie pulled a sweatshirt from under my comforter. "Isn't this my brother's? I mean, I bought him this."

Of course it was his.

That little rascal again.

I tugged the sweatshirt back. "You're making that up. This is mine. That brand is trendy — I really like it."

Sophie tilted her head, half-smiling. "Who's making things up? Claire, your sweatshirt actually has the hidden pocket I sewed in."

???

It's the 21st century — why does an older sister still sew a hidden pocket into her brother's clothes?

I was exhausted.

Sophie triumphantly held up the sweatshirt and pointed to the seam where she’d sewn the little pocket. "He insisted on coming all the way to Seattle to study. I worried he'd be careless and lose things, so I sewed a pocket here. See? Are you still going to lie to me?"

Great. She's proud of her detective work — but did she forget her own brother slept here?

Seeing me avoid her eyes, Sophie made one call and summoned Ethan over.

"Talk! What's going on?" she demanded, upright on the sofa, interrogating him.

I cozied up next to Sophie and worked on my good-sibling points. "Yes. Say it."

Sophie rolled her eyes at me. "You, sit across from us."

Of course. I used to be the one rolling my eyes at Sophie — but now that I'm flirting with her brother, I'm stuck playing nice.

"Yes, ma'am." I smiled and moved to sit opposite them, head bowed and ready for Sophie’s grilling.

"Spill. Are you two together?"

"Yes."

"How long?"

"Not long… a few months…"

"Did you get together when he started your internship?"

"Not immediately… a few days after…"

"Tsk." Sophie crossed her arms, brow furrowed, looking smug and superior. We both buried our faces further into our phones, hoping our contrition would buy leniency.

Silence stretched on, heavy as a tomb.

Then suddenly Sophie burst into laughter. "I told you, Ethan, you big dummy — you should've hung around Claire sooner! If you'd come crash her internship in college, none of this waiting would be necessary! Why wait all those years?!"

"You’re right, sis. I should've come sooner!" Ethan beamed at her.

"What are you two talking about?" I asked, bewildered.

Sophie feigned tears like an overdramatic mom, grabbing our hands and putting them together. "You two finally made it. I'm so proud, sob sob."

I almost started crying for real. So this whole time Sophie had been trying to play matchmaker.

I shot Ethan a look. "You, sit across from us," I repeated, then stood and crossed my arms, glaring at them both. "Explain!"

"He liked you since he was little. As his sister, of course I had to help," Sophie said, looking down at her shoes.

"That's childish. It doesn't count," I said.

"I thought that too, but he still liked you when he grew up. That means it's real. I had to help." Sophie insisted.

"But he's eight years younger than me!"

"Eight years? So what? As long as you two fit. Look at celebrities — Siobhan dated someone over a decade younger and they're happy."

"I get the logic, but you can't team up to trick me."

"Come on — you're a career-driven woman and hopeless in love. If I hit you with a straight play, you'd run. Remember how I asked you to keep an eye on him when we were kids? You literally hid from him."

Sophie looked slightly accusing; Ethan looked contrite. She had a point.

"Okay, fine. All cleared up. Now you can go," I said, lowering my cup to drink.

Sophie flicked Ethan a chin-jerk. "Yeah, you can go now."

Poor little rascal looked at me with puppy eyes. "Sis, do you want me to go?"

"No." I lifted my head and nodded toward her. "Sophie, you can go."

"What? Claire, what do you mean 'go'? You want me to leave?!" Sophie’s pupils went wide.

I calmly produced my hotel VIP card. "He's traveled far. Can't make him go back tonight. You should stay at a hotel."

"I'll sleep in the spare room," she protested.

Ethan wasn't having it. He got between us and shepherded her up. "Sis, you being here makes it awkward. And what if we keep you up at night?"

He said it so casually, without embarrassment — so shameless.

Sophie glared back and forth at us. "You two lovebirds! One has a wife and drops everything for her sister; the other forgets his friends for a pretty face — just stay together forever!"

"May it be so!" we chimed, grinning as we walked Sophie to the door.

A huge weight lifted off my chest. I hummed a tune and turned to close the door.

Ethan stretched out an arm and blocked me. "Hey Claire, how do you have a hotel VIP card?"

He cocked his head and smiled innocently.

Danger!

I scrambled for an explanation. "I travel a lot for work. I stayed so often the company set me up with a VIP card. I don't even want it."

"Oh~ I see." He nodded, still smiling.

"You remember the first time you saw me? You didn't recognize me but you wanted to take me to a hotel, right?" Ethan teased, dredging up old mischief.

Bringing up the past!

"No, that's not— Ethan, hear me out," I started.

Ethan folded his arms and leaned in close, his breath warm at my ear. "I'm not listening."

What? Now he's playing coy like in a cheesy romance.

"No, no, listen! It's not what you think."

He bent toward me, whispering playfully against my ear, "Then, sis, explain it in that outfit — ooh~ make it a good explanation~"

Gulp. I knew it was a setup. But I could only surrender to him, blushing. "You little brat."