“Yeah.” She’s right. “Just like me.”
Her laughter stops suddenly, replaced by sniffles.
“Isabelle?” I ask, turning to look at her. “Are you crying?”
She nods. “Ivy is such a witch. You’re still so in love with her you can’t see past it.”
Huh?What the fuck?“I don’t love Ivy.”
“Yes, you do. Why else would you be angry all the time and push everyone away?”
First off, I don’t push everyone away. Only some people. “To protect my kid.” Jesus. “I don’t want her to go through that again.”
Isabelle stops sniffling and glares at me. “That’s bologna, Nash.”
“Bologna?”
“Yeah. Andi was practically a baby when Ivy left. But you weren’t.” She jabs her finger into my arm. It’s surprisingly painful. “You’re the one who doesn’t want to go through that again.” Jab, jab. “You’re the one who has closed off his heart to love.”
She doesn’t jab me again, but it feels like it. Pulling into the Harmons’ long driveway, I stop the truck and push it into park. And just in time too. Turning to look at her, I say, “You’re home.”
“Home,” she sighs. “I’m so pooped I’m going to sleep like the dead.” Leaning over to me, she closes her eyes and kisses me on the lips. It’s a soft, sweet little kiss. “Nighty night, Nashville Watson.” She slides out of my truck and nearly falls on her round little ass. I jump down from the pickup and jog around to her side in time to help her to the front door.
She giggles softly. “Thanks.” Looking up at me, I swear her eyes are sparkling in the moonlight. “I’m sorry about dusting your house. I was just trying to help.”
I sigh because I know that’s all she was doing. “I know.”
“You know,” she says as she trips on a pebble, “you should call Janine. She does a great job.”
“I don’t want someone in my house snooping around and gossiping all over town.”
“Okay.” Isabelle stops walking. Turning to face me, she plants her little angry fists on her hips. “First of all”—she holds up one finger—“you need the help.” A second finger pops free. “Secondly, Janine needs the work. Her husband is a layabout and a ne'er-do-well. She’s supporting three kids too.”
“Uh-huh.” I’d heard that. Her lazy-ass husband keeps getting fired for being a dumbass.
“And thirdly”—another finger makes three—“you could have her sign some sort of privacy affidavit or something, so you know she won’t air your dirty laundry.” Isabelle snorts, then slaps me on the chest. “Get it?” She snorts again. “Dirty laundry?”
“I get it. Very funny.”
When she stops laughing, her hands drop to her side, and her face changes from happy to serious. “You need help. It’d be one less thing you have to deal with, Nash. She could come once a week and get you all sorted out. Then you can focus on Andi and the farm.”
Running my fingers through my hair, I sigh. “Honestly, I didn’t think it was that bad.”
“Yes, it’s bad. The dust was an inch thick.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“Pretty close.” She side-eyes me. “Call Janine. It’ll help you both out, and she’s nice. You’ll like her.”
“I know Janine.”
“And—” Isabelle winks at me and it’s adorable. “—she won’t be swayed by your dashing good looks either. The last time she and I talked, she said she was over men, so you’ve got that going for you.”
I chuckle at her words. “Got it.”
“You’ll call?” She’s stopped walking again.
“I’ll seriously consider it.”
