Olivia throws me a confused look. “Please. I’m glad you’re stuck with us for the next week.”
“I’m just glad Ol’ Griff’s out of the picture,” Charlie says. “This week wouldn’t be nearly as fun if you were ditching us to go see him.”
I lower my eyes. That had been exactly my mission before the breakup. Anytime Mom wanted to come to Shreveport for the day or the weekend, I usually opted to stay behind with Dad or at Addie’s so I could be with Griffin.
“It has been a long time since we’ve hung out like this,” I say. And, for the first time since I’ve been back at Nonna’s, things finally feel normal with us. “If Wes was here, it would be just like old times.”
Charlie snorts.
“What do you mean by that?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Nothing. Just not a fan of Laurel’s.”
I’m dying to know more, but instead I lean my head against the window and enjoy the Harold-free ride.
Nonna and I are cleaning up the huge mess in the kitchen from the post-date beignets when a knock on the back door startles us—mostly because no one ever knocks before coming in this house.
“It’s open!” Nonna calls out.
Wes sticks his head in, his eyes scanning the room. “Don’t tell me I missed them.”
I give him a small smile. “Sorry, Charlie and Olivia left about ten minutes ago.”
He lets out a quick laugh. “Not them! The beignets. Please tell me there are a few left.”
Nonna puts the plate with the few remaining treats on the table. “Help yourself, honey.”
Wes sits at the table and I plop down across from him.
“Your date ended early,” I say.
He shrugs. “So did yours, I hear.”
I drop my head to the table and groan. “You have no idea how horrible it was. Between Hundred Hands and the hungry goat, I wasn’t sure I was going to make it out alive.”
“Charlie sent me a play-by-play.” He pauses. “And a picture.”
My head pops up. “No, he didn’t.”
A small, powdered sugar smile plays across his face. Wes turns his phone around and there I am, sweating and red faced, holding that crying baby. The lights are glowing around me, and my halo hangs off to one side of my head. Harold is cuddled up next to me, smiling as big as he can.
It’s Wes’s new home screen.
I groan again.
He puts his phone down and eats the last beignet in one bite.
“So you know why my date ended early, but why did yours? It’s barely nine o’clock.”
He shrugs again. “We had this dinner thing to go to and now it’s over.”
I wait for more, but he’s busy brushing powdered sugar off his fingers.
“Charlie has tomorrow’s date. Any idea who he’s set me up with?” I ask.
Wes sweeps up loose powdered sugar that found its way off his plate and shakes his head. “I asked but he wouldn’t tell me.”
I prop my elbows on the table and drop my head in my hands.
