Page 32 of His Surrender

“I hate running out of food.”

“So, your solution is to order the entire menu?”

“It’s worked so far.”

I shake my head, laughing as he hands me a pair of chopsticks. “I don’t think either of us is going hungry tonight.”

Ten minutes later, with our plates halfway empty, Dean looks across the table at me.

“How’s Noah doing? I haven’t talked to him in ages.”

I set my fork down and pat my mouth with my napkin.

“He’s good. Living in California with his wife and two kids now. He works in finance.”

A genuine smile crosses Dean’s face. “I’m glad to hear that.”

He leans back in his chair, a smirk slowly spreading across his face.

“What?” I ask suspiciously.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “I was just thinking about all the dumb stuff he and I used to get into.”

I can’t help rolling my eyes. “You two probably gave my mom at least fifty gray hairs.”

His laugh grows louder. “You’re probably right.”

Images from those summers flash through my mind.

Noah sneaking through the back door long after my parents thought we’d all gone to bed. Dean following behind him, both of them trying—and failing—to be quiet.

I’d always pretend I was getting a glass of water. In reality, I was just hoping to catch another glimpse of Dean before he headed home.

“We were idiots,” he admits. “Not like you.”

I tilt my head. “What does that mean?”

He shrugs, reaching for his glass of water. “You were always the good kid.”

I raise an eyebrow. “The good kid?”

“Sure.” He smiles like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You followed the rules. You listened to your parents. You were always polite.” He laughs softly. “I remember thinking Noah could learn a thing or two from his little sister.”

My smile stays in place. Inside, something sinks.

That’s how he remembers me.

Not as the hopeless fifteen-year-old who spent entirely too much time wondering what he’d think if she wore her hair down instead of in a ponytail.

Not as the girl who volunteered to help wash Noah’s truck because Dean happened to be next door.

Not as the teenager whose heart practically beat out of her chest every time he said hello.

Just Noah’s well-behaved little sister.

I should be relieved. It means he never noticed. Never had to awkwardly pretend my crush didn’t exist.

So, why does that somehow sting?