Winnie cringes, not making the situation any better about whatever they need to say. “You’re more involved than I am.”
Tabitha sighs, pinching her lips together before she answers. “You heard Nate was almost arrested?”
4
“No? For what?” We may not be best friends, but I thought we had gotten friendlier the last few days. He didn’t mention anything about being arrested. I even asked if he’d ever been to jail.
“Well, he almost ran you over with his truck.” Tabitha nods her head, waiting for my response like this is obvious.
Okay, fine, it should have been. My mind has been full lately with work and taking care of Emma. I haven’t put thought into what happens to someone who hits a person with his vehicle. But it can’t be good.
“Ridge got him out of immediate trouble, but you could still press charges. You almost broke your ankle.”
“No. I don’t want to press charges.” The thought never crossed my mind.
“Well, he needs to pay for any medical bills, and make him do a lot more crap around your apartment. Rearrange the furniture or paint something.” Winnie grabs another pink macaroon. “Lift heavy furniture.”
“It’s the absolute least he can do. And the town will tar and feather him if he doesn’t,” Tabitha chimes in her opinion.
After a pause, I lean back on the couch, a small headache forming behind my left eye as it twitches. “I moved to Pelican Bay because I wanted to blend in with everyone else.” I planned to find a nice little small town and set up shop and then keep to myself.
Both ladies laugh and Tabitha chokes on the macaroons she’d been halfway through chewing. “You picked the wrong town for blending.”
I nod, accepting defeat. “I’m starting to agree.”
The police have not been by to get a statement for what happened in the apartment parking lot the day Nate hit me. Someone asked me a few questions while I was in the hospital, but I don’t remember much of what was said because I was dealing with doctors and trying to figure out if my ankle was broken or not. The doctors still weren’t sure at that point.
Although, this new information makes me analyze at the situation between Nate and me in a different light. Why is he here helping me? I hadn’t questioned it all that much, thinking he was a nice guy who wanted to help take care of the situation he created, but is there another reason? Is he doing this so I won’t press charges?
What kind of person is Nate? Is he a wolf in sheep’s clothing? A man I let into my house because I considered him a good guy, but in actuality he’s here for his own selfish purposes? Ugh. I hate the self-doubt my divorce created. I used to be so confident of my ability to make good decisions.
“It’s notthat I don’t want to live with Ridge, but I just feel like a girl should be married first,” Tabitha continues thirty minutes later in our ongoing conversation.
Winnie rolls her eyes. “Tabitha, you haven’t been to your own house in weeks. If you won’t sell it, at least rent it to someone. You can make a ton of rent in Pelican Bay.”
“You could. Property goes fast here, and it’s expensive. That’s why I’m renting outside of town.” When I packed up and left Barry, I had to do it fast and there wasn’t time to house shop. Now that we’re in the apartment and I’ve been looking, either houses have offers on them before I get past the front door or they are way out of my price range. I was lucky to find the little fixer-upper I did. The one Nate saw on my laptop yesterday. Now I just need the bank to get their stuff in gear so I can make an official offer.
“The house has sentimental value.”
My neighbor rolls her eyes again at her friend, and then shakes her head no at me, but I don’t plan to get insert myself in the argument between the two women.
The apartment door squeaks — I need to put oil on the hinge or call maintenance — and all three of our heads shift in that direction. I could’ve sworn Nate locked the door on his way out.
“Honey, I’m home.” He walks in the apartment smiling, a set of keys dangling from the door handle and a big smile on his face.
When did he get keys?
Who said that was okay?
Why does it seem like he and his friends railroaded my life the last few days and how can I stop it?
Do I even want to stop it?
As he struggles to pull his keys out of the lock with one hand, a large red and white pizza box flip-flops at the top of his other.
“Here let me help you,” Tabitha says, jumping up to grab the box from Nate.
I frown, irritated that she gets to get up and help him so easily and I’m stuck in my chair fumbling around for a crutch — even if she has spent the last two hours in a nonstop poetic love fest discussing her boyfriend Ridge. I never had these thoughts about Barry. Was it a sign? A big one, which I missed.
