“Right. And that’s why you’ve changed your mind about what to wear seventeen times.” She stood and moved to my closet, pushing hangers aside. “Tell me again what happened Tuesday. I need the full story.”
I sank onto the bed. “I already told you. The board meeting went well.”
“And then you had coffee with Patrick to discuss the Scottish partnership, and he asks you out.”
“Yes. That’s it.”
“And?” Shelly turned to look at me, skeptical. “That’s not the entire story, Tess. You came home Tuesday looking like you’d been hit by a truck. A very attractive Scottish truck.”
I picked at a loose thread on my comforter. “He told me he thinks about me constantly. That he hasn’t felt this alive since his wife died.”
“I knew it.” Shelly pulled out a deep green dress I’d forgotten I owned—simple, elegant, nothing too dramatic. “This one. It says dinner. With someone who understands what you’re going through. Someone who knows how hard this is.” She moved to my jewelry box, then paused. “What are you doing about jewelry?”
My hand went automatically to my wedding ring. “I don’t know. I tried to take it off this morning. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”
“Then don’t.” She was rifling through my jewelry box, her expression thoughtful. “You don’t have to take it off until you’re ready. And maybe—” She held up the pearl earrings Marco had given me. “Maybe not the pieces Marco gave you?”
The observation was gentle but landed hard. “You’re right. I can’t wear them.”
“I know.” Shelly set them aside. “So wear mine.” She reached up and removed her own earrings—simple silver hoops—and held them out. “Not fancy, but they won’t make you feel like you’re betraying anyone.”
I took them, my throat tight. “Thank you.”
“That’s what sisters-in-law are for.” She moved to my dresser and started pulling out makeup. “Now, let’s make you look like yourself again. The you from before—not the grief-zombie you’ve been for the last four months.”
Shelly worked on applying foundation and blush while I sat still. She was halfway through my eyes when Paris appeared in the doorway.
“Why are you wearing makeup?” My daughter’s suspicious gaze moved from me to Shelly and back again. “And perfume? I smelled it from downstairs.”
“Your mom has a business dinner,” Shelly said smoothly, not pausing in her work. “Very important. Very boring.”
“Business dinners don’t need lipstick.”
“The fancy ones do.” Shelly picked up mascara. “Now go help Uncle Michael with... whatever’s going on downstairs.”
“Rome’s trying to make a fort out of couch cushions and Fury’s helping and Blaze says they’re doing it wrong, and it’s very loud.” Paris didn’t move from the doorway. “Are you going on a date?”
The question was so direct, so painfully honest, that I didn’t know how to answer. Shelly’s hand stilled on my face, waiting.
“I’m having dinner with a friend,” I said. “Someone who understands my… situation.”
Paris considered this, her face serious beyond her years. “Is he going to be our new dad?”
“No, honey. No one can replace your dad.”
“But he’s dead.”
The blunt statement made me flinch. “Yes, he is.”
“So someone has to be Dad now. Uncle Michael says so.”
I shot a look at Shelly, who looked equally surprised. “Uncle Michael said that?”
“I heard him say that someone needs to help with the boy stuff because boys need a dad, and Rome and Austin are getting wild.” She paused. “I don’t need a dad for anything because I’m fine. But Rome keeps crying and asking where Dad is, and maybe a new dad would help.”
My heart cracked open. “Oh, baby?—”
“Gotta go. Fury says we need more cushions for the fort.” She vanished as quickly as she’d appeared, leaving me staring at the empty doorway.
