But more definitive—our rescuers did, in fact, bring food. We have a charcuterie lunch feast with a side of sprinkle pancakes that Cash insists on making for me.
Waverly and I share a bottle of wine.
The house starts warming up again.
And as the last of the meats and cheeses and olives and pickles and grapes disappear, it quickly becomes obvious that it’s time for the people who are leaving to leave.
Davis gives a subtle head jerk to Cooper that all of us recognize astime to hit the road.
“Are you staying?” Waverly asks me.
I slide a glance at Cash, then quickly back to her when I realize he’s not looking at me. “I think so,” I say. “I need to run to the store”—and probably hit a laundromat for the quilts—“but it’s nice here.”
At least, it has been.
I steal another look at Cash, but Cooper’s asking him something, and once again, he’s not looking at me.
Waverly looks over at them too. She slips her hand into mine and squeezes. “And are you staying alone?” she murmurs.
“He likes the holidays,” I whisper. “He should be with the people who want to celebrate with him. We can…talk later.”
There have been three times that Waverly has given me the samewhat the fuck is wrong with you?look that I’m getting now.
First, when I told her she should have a hot public fling with Davis Remington, which is hilarious in retrospect. Second, when I told her I didn’t want to stay at her house but wanted to live in a hotel instead right before she hooked me up with staying at Cash’s pool house. And the third time was when I told her I hated my Christmas song.
She came around on the last one when she understood why.
But she knows I like Cash. She knows he’s indicated he likes me too.
“Do you want to be completely alone, or do you just want to not be around holiday lights and your song?” she whispers.
I look at Cash once more.
This time, he’s looking back at me.
Wary brown eyes.
Hopeful?
Is there hope in there?
Does he want to stay?
Does he want me to go home with him?
My stomach ties itself in sloshy knots.
The wine and cheese and meats and olives were not my best idea.
Waverly squeezes my arm. “Call me when you’re back in town. We’ll pretend it’s Fourth of July and go somewhere tropical so we think it’s summer.”
She and Cooper join Davis in heading for the door.
“Your car’s trashed,” Davis says to Cash.
“It’s Waylon’s.”
“Your car is trashed, and you’re fucked when you explain it to your brother,” Davis amends. “You want a ride?”
