I leave first.
It’s a rule. You don’t follow a woman you barely know out of a parking lot, so you do your damnedest to leave first.
Only you could find a single pregnant woman in need of a home on your last night working in Copper Valley.
Swear I can hear my brother cracking open another beer in my head too.
Too bad you’re a creeper and you fucked this up, but it was always a bad idea.
I puff out my cheeks, blowing out a breath as I steer my Jeep out of the parking lot.
This might’ve been a terrible idea.
But I made the offer.
And now I’ll never see Ziggy Barnes again.
4
Ziggy
You knowwhat’s more awkward than failing at adulting?
Keeping the extent of your failures a secret from your parents.
Thanks for lunch at your club, Mom. Also, you know that company Dad got me an interview with? Welp, that’s over now. Funny story. Abby Nora’s brother-in-law was there, and he was harassing me, and I tossed my cookies all over him, and so I’m fired. But don’t worry. I don’t have to move back in with you. The security guy from last night offered to let me house-sit for him. I can probably squat there for a while.Oh, by the way, Abby Nora hates my guts now.
I stab another rosemary potato cube on my plate as I sit with my mom and her real estate agent friend at a table in the opulently appointed Heartwood Valley Owners Club dining room. If I say anything beyondthanks for lunch, the rest of it will spill out.
Telling my parents I accidentally got pregnant and I want to keep the baby?
Easy.
Telling my parents it happened because I had a grief-fling with a random guy in a port in Greece the night after I found out Abby Nora wasn’t the friend I thought she was is completely different.
They think we’re still besties. That I’ve seen her since I got back and that she’s thrilled I’m home again. That I’m not telling her about my own pregnancy yet so that I let her finish out hers with all eyes on her.
Every time I start to tell my parents what actually happened with Abby Nora, I get a knot in my gut and my legs quiver and I break out in a sweat.
They will be so disappointed.
It was easier to tell them I’m pregnant and can’t find the father than it will be to tell them I had a BFF breakup with my longest-standing friend.
My soulmate friend. The sister of my heart who knew all of my deepest fears and secrets.
The bestie who was drifting away.
How did I not notice?
How did I not realize that I was the one who initiated every text conversation and phone call for the past few years, and that she shared less and less of her own personal life every time we talked?
Mom waves a ring-covered hand in front of my face. “Sweetheart, you haven’t touched your chicken.”
“My stomach is off.” It’s an easier answer thanI told you I didn’t want the chicken today.
Mom means well. But she doesn’t listen sometimes.
Other times, she listens very well.
