Eliana:It is. And you would totally rock it.
Willow:*eye roll emoji* Yes, all anyone wants to see is the legs of a mom of two.
Eliana:Please, I’m desperate. (For the record, you can totally pull this dress off—mom or not.)
Eliana:For the double record … if you’re uncomfortable, I’ll make it work. My grandma says she has nylons I can borrow. *Shudder.*
Willow:No, gosh. Say no more. I can trade you.
Eliana:THANK YOU!! You have saved my life and my reputation.
Willow:Anytime.
Relief rolled through her. At least one problem was solved. Now if only Willow could finish writing her book for her and face the internet meanies and figure out what to do about a certain speech therapist she couldn’t get out of her mind.
Grandpa chatted about his plans for after the wedding—most of them with his friend Smitty—when movement caught her eye.
Asher. Walking straight out of the bungalow without any subtlety, he wore his wetsuit and held a surfboard. Most people knew he was cleaning up the boxes, but still, he was generally so cautious about people seeing him come in and out.
Maybe with his eviction date coming up so soon, he’d stopped caring.
Or the meeting had gone bad enough he wasn’t thinking straight.
Either way, it worried her.
“So, Asher, huh?” She glanced over at Grandpa, who waggled his eyebrows exaggeratedly.
She groaned. “Oh no. Not you too. Did Grandma put you up to this?”
His expression turned confused, and then for the briefest of moments, hurt. But perhaps it was her imagination, because when she stared more closely at him, he looked normal. “No. Is Grandma playing matchmaker?”
“Yes,” she said. Asher walked into the ocean without a sideways glance toward them, clearly lost in his own world. He got deep enough to sit on his board and paddle out a little farther. She knew enough about surfing to see that the waves tonight weren’t good for it—and most of the surfers came in the morning. And when he just sat on his board and floated, she realized he had no intention of surfing. Just being.
“And is it working?” he asked.
“Is what working?” she asked, distractedly.
“Are you falling for Asher?”
She whipped her head toward him. He sat with his hands folded over his stomach, a way-too-satisfied smile on his face.
“No,” she said. Maybe a little too vehemently. Especially because her gaze dragged itself back to Asher floating on the water, staring out at the horizon. “He just had a hard afternoon. I’m worried about him.” And a little hurt he hadn’t called her to tell her how things went. She could admit that.
She hadn’t told him to call her, but she thought he would.
“You care about him, then?”
“Yes, I do. That’s not wrong. That doesn’t mean I’m in love with him.”
Grandpa shrugged, which rose her hackles. She knew that shrug—it was his “I’m just humoring you” shrug.
“I’m serious, Grandpa. I have an entire platform dedicated to being single. I can’t fall for him.”
“Falling in love is rarely convenient,” he said.
She let out a frustrated groan. “You are impossible.”
“Elly,” he said softly. He waited until she tilted her head and looked up at him. “Don’t let one bad marriage keep you from ever trusting or falling in love again. Especially with someone as good as Asher. You have too much love to give.” He nodded his head in Asher’s direction. “And that one would never intentionally hurt you.”
