“Time blurs the past,” I manage.
She hums thoughtfully, tracing the air beside the scar without touching me this time, like she’s testing a boundary she knows exists. But there’s something more. The playful glint in her eye gives her away. This is the Kari I remember. Pushing the envelope. Never backing down when her curiosity is piqued.
“I always forget you’re basically indestructible,” she says, her grin deepening. “Until you’re not.”
I like her laughing, relaxed, and comfortable. I want the easy connection we had as kids, only now, I want more. And the way she’s looking at me, makes it hard to pretend we’re just old friends.
“You trying to kill me, or was that accidental?” I swing my leg over the bench, before I embarrass myself with a boner.
Her grin widens. “Little of both.”
I snort despite myself, the tension easing a fraction. But the awareness of what one small touch from her can do stays with me. If one casual touch can affect me this way, what the hell would happen if she wanted more?
6
Kari
I slip in through the front door as quietly as I can, easing it shut and toeing off my shoes in the entryway. My stomach growls loud enough that I wince, pausing to lay a hand going to my midsection like that’ll somehow hush it.
I’m starving.
All I want is a snack. Something crunchy. Something salty.
From the kitchen, I hear my mom’s animated voice, followed by Kelly’s higher pitched, excited one. I don’t need to see them to know what they’re talking about.
Wedding stuff.
I angle myself toward the hallway despite my stomach’s hangry call for food. If I can make it past the kitchen undetected, I can head straight to Dad’s office, shut the door, and eat the granola bar I threw in my bag earlier. If I’m quiet enough, I can probably make it.
“Kari?”
Damn it. No one gets past Mom’s radar.
I freeze for half a second, then sigh and turn toward the kitchen, to the doorway I was so close to slipping by. The smellof something warm and buttery hits me—and my stomach gives another traitorous growl.
Mom’s homemade Parker House rolls can only mean one thing. Slow cooker roast with savory gravy and buttery mashed potatoes. Mom’s specialty. And something I should definitely not entertain eating. My stomach growls again, already staging a rebellion.
Mom stands at the counter with a mug in her hands, her apron dusted with flour. Kelly perches on a stool with a magazine spread open in front of her. Her posture’s perfect, hair neatly pulled back in a sleek ponytail.
“There you are,” Mom says. “Come look at this.”
Kelly lights up. “Perfect timing.”
I paste on a smile and step into the kitchen. “Hey. What’s up?”
Mom gestures to the magazine. “Kelly was just showing me the dress she’s thinking about.”
Kelly turns the magazine around, eyes shining. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”
The page shows a bride in a flowing white gown with clean lines and a dramatic neckline. A view from the back shows an equally beautiful, scooped back with a long lacy train. The model looks like she’s floating instead of standing, like gravity doesn’t apply to beautiful people.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, and I mean it. I really do.
Kelly beams. “I know, right? I cried a little when I saw it.”
Mom laughs softly. “You did.”
“I did. But wait—look at this.”
