“Ah nee a vava,” she says with a full mouth.
“You need a favor?”
She nods and doesn’t look at me while we keep walking.
“Emma. You know I’m here for anything you need this week.Anything. Name it.Oh. My. God.” I drop my voice to a whisper. “Are you pregnant? Do you need—”
“No!”
“Okay. Okay.”
She visibly swallows and winces again. “I wish I was pregnant,” she grumbles. “But no. This is bad, Laney. I should’ve known, but I didn’t, so now I’ll deal with it, except I’m tired. I’msotired. And I hate to ask this, but you’re the only one I can count on.”
“Name it. I’m here for you.”
The bushes open up, and she pauses while the music gets louder and the view of the sunset widens beyond a kidney-shaped pool where roughly a dozen people are gathered about, either in the water or on loungers or at the tables at the edge of the deck.
This time, she lets herself fully nibble on her thumb when she could be nibbling on the rest of the protein bar, and she stares at the pool. And it’s not a distant, unfocused,I’m thinking hard about somethingstare.
This is anI’m staring at the problemstare that’s accompanied by the deepest sigh I’ve ever heard her sigh in my life.
Emma’s closest sorority sister from college, Claire, who’s her third bridesmaid, has claimed a pool lounge. She’s one of my favorites of Emma’s college friends. Her hair and her bright swimsuit are wet like she’s recently gotten out of the water. There’s not enough sun left to soak up any rays, but there’s something else clearly keeping her there.
A very distinctive something else.
She’s leaning forward at the edge of her lounger, smiling and flirting with a man in a—what?
Why is that server wearing an inflatable ride-on flamingo costume?
It’s like one of those blow-up tyrannosaurus rex costumes, except it’s a giant blow-up flamingo, and his shirtless top half is out. The flamingo costume has inflated legs across its back to make it look like the man’s riding the flamingo, and it would be funny if it wasn’t so unexpected here.
He’s offering a tray of pineapples with drink umbrellas and straws to Claire, who is eating it all up.
Good for her.
I glance at Emma, who is definitely staring at the server.
He’sripped. And tattooed. With surfer hair. And I can’t see his face, but I can tell Claire is charmed.
Charmedcharmed.
Drooling, even.
Oh, god.
Emma also has a crush on a resort pool boy and is having second thoughts.
I mean, I get it. Chandler’s a catch in Snaggletooth Creek, but he’s notbuilt, tatted surferhot. Do youseethose broad shoulders? And those back dimples above his, erm, flamingo butt?
I angle closer to her and slip an arm around her waist. “Um, Em? Tell me you’re not—”
She cuts me off with a half-sob. “Uncle Owen dared him to wear the costume, and then the bar was understaffed, so he just picked up a tray and started…helping.”
I squint up at her. I’m missing something. “Your uncle dared—”
“And I don’t know what happened while they were all deep-sea fishing this morning, but they came back and Chandler wassomad at him, and he was pretending he wasn’t even though I know he was, and I don’t get it. I mean, I do. I know he’s a total ass sometimes, but he’s never an asson purpose. And really, he’s almost never an ass at all anymore. It’s more like he sees a toy, he goes after it, and sometimes things just…happen…when that happens.”
I am so confused. “Chandler isn’t an ass, sweetie.”
