Free Sweetly by Jackson Pearce Page A

Ansel finally spits out the rest of his sentence. “I’m going to ask Sophia to dinner.”
    “To… dinner… what?” I try to suppress the smile emerging at the corners of my mouth.
    “I just… it’s like she makes me feel comfortable. Normal, I guess. I don’t know. Stop making that face!” Ansel says, cheeks reddening.
    The laugh escapes my lips. Ansel rolls his eyes at me and turns around to storm down the stairs.
    “Hey, wait, wait,” I say, chuckling a little. “Sorry. I get it, I get it. She makes me feel that way too. I’m just not asking her out. But where are you going to take her?”
    “I was thinking that Italian place? The guy who owns the hardware store said it’s the only date place left in Live Oak. That is, when he wasn’t laughing at me.” Ansel sighs. How long has he been planning this? I bet he hasn’t given the forest a second thought. It’s been on my mind more and more lately, as I recite the eight missing girls’ names over and over in my head. The scent of the chocolatier seems to have worn off, and old fears are fighting to win me back.
    I pause a long time before answering. “She doesn’t like to go into town, and people in town don’t always like us anyway. You should make something here.”
    “Here?”
    “Yes, here,” I say, waving my arm at the living room. “I mean, just go to the grocery and get stuff for sandwiches and drinks and have a little picnic in the living room.”
    “That doesn’t sound as nice as a dinner out,” Ansel says skeptically.
    “Trust me. It’s the little efforts that count. Anyone can take a girl out to eat.” Ansel frowns but nods. Good. He should listen to me—I mean, I’ve never actually been on a date, but years of studying romantic leads in books and watching couples while still in school taught me a thing or two.
    “Anything else I should do?” he asks, and I laugh. It’s odd, giving him advice—I feel as if I’m the protective one suddenly. It’s not a bad feeling.
    “Be yourself, Ansel. You’ll be fine,” I tell him.
    “That’s the most vague advice ever,” Ansel grumbles.
    “Trust me.”
    For most of the day, I help Sophia mold chocolate-shaped acorns in white, dark, and milk chocolate; we even make a few with white chocolate bodies and milk chocolate caps. She’s in a fantastic mood—three RSVPs for the chocolate festival came in. The way Sophia gazes at them pinned up on a corkboard by the kitchen door, you’d think they were diamond studded.
    Between the two of us, work goes fast, and by dinnertime there’s nothing left to do. I make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and head for my room, thinking I’ll eat there, read a magazine, and go to bed early. In the living room I pass Ansel, who is busy spreading out his array of fine Piggly Wiggly–brand delicacies—a huge plate of fried chicken, tub of potato salad, biscuits, and half a pecan pie.
    “What do you think? The guy in the deli said this was good date food,” Ansel says nervously.
    I shrug. “Your guess is as good as mine, but it looks delicious to me. I’ll be in my room,” I say, nodding toward my bedroom. Ansel leaps to his feet.
    “What? No. You can’t be… right there.”
    I fold my arms and lean against the door frame. “And why not?”
    “Because I can’t be on a date with Sophia Kelly while my sister is seven feet away,” Ansel says, eyes widening as if I’ve missed the most obvious thing in the world. “It’ll be… um…”
    “What am I supposed to do, then?” It’s one thing to ask Sophia on a date; it’s another thing entirely to throw me out in order to do so.
    “I don’t know. Go read downstairs or something.”
    “In the kitchen. You’re throwing me out and telling me to go hang out in the kitchen .”
    “Or the porch. I don’t know. Come on, Gretchen.” He shakes his head, eyes pleading and serious. “Just this once. Please. I’ll owe you big.”
    I groan and finally nod. Ansel grins and proceeds to