I reach out and pinch her cheek gently. “You snoop. You listening to our conversation?”
She shrugs. “You were talking pretty loud. Couldn’t help it.”
Ignoring her comment, I pull up to a stop sign and turn to face Andi. “You sure?” Fuck, I don’t want her in my house. I’m absolutely positive I’ll like the looks of her there. That I’ll want her to stay. She’s the first woman since Andi’s mom to even tempt me, and that scares the shit out of me.
“I’m sure. Like she said, I’ll probably catch up quick. I’m smart.” She looks up at me with furrowed brows like she’s unsure. “Right, Daddy?”
Touching the top of her head, I smile. “You’re smart as a whip, peanut.”
She giggles. “That’s what Grandpa Connie used to call me.”
He did. “He called you peanut the day he found out you were coming, and it stuck.” He only got to spend three years with her, but she was his world for that time. They adored each other, and knowing what I know now, I’m so glad they had that time together, even though it was so brief. She still remembers him fondly. The fact that I talk about him a lot helps. That’s something my mom hasn’t been able to do––talk about Dad. Or step foot in the house they lived in for twenty-eight years. When she comes over to see Andi, it’s only to pick her up and take her back to her place in town. I don’t make a fuss. It’s hard for her. Dad was the love of her life. She misses him, and I get that. I decided a while ago I’d give her the space she needs. If she can’t go back inside the house, we’ll work with that. And that’s what we’ve done because my mom is the best. She’s kind and caring, sweet to a fault. Like someone else I know.
8
Isabelle
Wipingthe sweat from my forehead, I hear my phone ring. Since we’re on a short break from the first round of kickboxing, I decide to see who it is. Digging through my workout bag, I find my phone and look at the screen. I don’t recognize the number. Still, it could be something important. “Hello?” I say, panting. I’m still winded from the first part of the workout.
“Isabelle?”
It’s a man’s voice. It’s deep and rich sounding, but I don’t know who it is, so I ask, hesitantly, “Yes?”
“It’s Nash.”
I pause because I’m shocked. How did he get my number?
“Nash Watson.”
I want to giggle at his need to add his last name. Like I know a lot of Nashs?
“Yes?” I’m still breathing hard, but now it’s because I’ve got Nash Watson on my phone for the first time ever.
“Why are you breathing hard?”
“Just working out at the Y.”
“The Y? In Emmetsville?”
The closest YMCA is in the county seat and largest city nearby. In our case, that’s Emmetsville, population 15,999. It’s pretty big, especially compared to Honeywell, population 1,860. “Yes.”
“What kind of workout?”
What does he care? This is strange. “Kickboxing.” I hear the laughter on the other end of the line, and I’m not going to lie, it irks me. So, in an attempt to wrap this up, I snap, “What can I do for you, Nash?”
“I want to talk to you about Andi.”
I hear the music start up again and know it’s time for the second half of our workout to begin. “I’ll have to call you back. The class is starting up again. Is this your number?”
“Yeah. Call me when you’re done.”
“Okay. Bye.” Then I hang up. Sure, it was abrupt, but I don’t want to miss a minute of the workout. It’s not because I’m afraid of what I’d say to Nash given more time. Nope. Not at all.
On the way home from Emmetsville, I use my car Bluetooth to return Nash’s call.
“Hello?” His voice sounds hoarse.
“Nash? It’s Isabelle.”
