“Most people don’t when it comes to matters of the heart. Besides, I wouldn’t have wanted the responsibility if I were wrong. And the truth is, Becca is not a bad person.”
A few beats of dead air draw me back inside the warm hospital room.
“She was simply bad foryou.”
Honey and I have always been simpatico, but her statement riles me. First Mom, then Dad last night at dinner, and now Honey. So muchknowingin my family, yet equal amounts of silence these last weeks from every last one of them.
Her bony fingers, once strong and busy with the tasks of raising a family and spoiling her younger grandson rotten, cinch around my arm. “I know your pride was stung when she left you.”
Reducing my pain to simple wounded pride hits like a low blow.
“But here’s the way I view the matter—and you should listen to an old woman. Instead of looking at Becca as the one that got away, you might try viewing her leaving as you dodging a bullet.”
For all Honey’s grandmotherly awesomeness, she’s a quiet lady. She isn’t a person of flowery speech, nor is she the stereotype of the old woman with a sharp tongue and pointed words of wisdom that slice through the fog of one’s confusion.
I spike my eyebrow. “Been saving that one up for a while, haven’t you?”
Pride bobbles her head as she precisely adjusts the sheet across her lap. “I have. It came to me on the fringes of sleep yesterday after you stiff-armed your brother.”
“Must be the drugs. Make sure the doctor sends you home with a prescription.”
She swats at me. “I’m serious, you stinker!”
I squeeze her fingers. “I know, Honey. And I’ll think about what you said.” Boy, will I. The suggestion is already pinging off the cell towers in my brain.
“Good. Let Becca go. Forgive your brother. And…”
I think I know what’s coming.
“Get back out there and get serious about findingyourMiss Right so you don’t miss her when she shows up!”
Chapter 11
Everly
Ifold my arms across my middle. The pointy, sparkly Christmas tree pin I attached to the strap of my apron two days ago pokes my arm in the process.
The burly giant crashing a fine Saturday morning pulls up to my breakfast counter and straddles himself onto the red stool as if it’s the seat of a Harley.
For the sake of the rest of the customers, I temper my tone but not my scowl. “You look awful.”
Truth. Wrinkled clothes, red eyes.
One of his dimples peeps out. “Aw, gee, no need to sweet talk me, Everly.”
I poke my hands to my hips. “But you’re so deserving of it,Knox.”
He combines a brow arch with a side eye, his radar sensitive to my frequency of sarcasm. I puff fugitive hair from my face. “Tell me, how was the cantata?”
Now his brows vee. “I didn’t attend.”
“You don’t say. I didn’t either.”
“Everly—”
“Coffee?” I whip around and snatch the pot from the burner. My cheeks feel as hot as it is. Cattiness does not make me proud.
“Sure.” Hands turned sideways and planted on his thighs, he watches scalding liquid fill the white mug. “Thanks.”
