“Thank you, honey,” Mrs. Mackey calls from the next table, refilling someone’s coffee.
“Okay, spill,” Marlowe says. “What have you been doing out there?”
I pick at the cookie crumbs. “Not much. Sorted through some old boxes, fixed up the garden. Had dinner with Tripp my first night here, and a deer darted in front of the truck.”
Her eyes widen. “You hit a deer?”
“Well,hedid. It got knocked out, but it came to. I checked it for injuries, and it seemed okay.”
She blinks. “Anything else you’d like to share with the class?”
“Oh,” I gasp, snapping my fingers. “I got a pig yesterday.”
Her jaw drops. “You what now?”
“I went with my brother’s fiancée to a rescue. She was picking up some horses, and, well...” I shrug. “I came home with a pot-bellied pig.”
“Of course you did.” She rolls her eyes but can’t hide her smile. “And its name is?”
“Winston.”
“Naturally,” she deadpans.
I laugh, and then she narrows her eyes. “Back up. You hadn’t even been there twenty-four hours, and some guy took you to dinner?”
“It wasn’t like that.” I wave a hand. “Tripp is Wes’ best friend—they used to rope together. He just wanted to make sure I got settled.”
“Oh, dinner with a real cowboy, huh?”
“Yes, Mar. We’ve known each other forever. It wasn’t a thing.”
“Mm-hmm. Interesting.”
I groan, dragging my palm down my face. “It’s seriously the least interesting thing I’ve said. Wait, are you at home? Is the living room a different color?” I ask, shifting the topic away from cute cowboys. I was an uncomfortable-conversation magnet today.
She glances behind her. “Oh, yeah. We decided to redecorate this weekend.”
“Oh God. I’m sorry I missed that.”
“It’s all good. We got it done. No drama.”
“Hm, hard to believe.”
Marlowe and Lindsey had been together for two years now. The honeymoon phase was long gone, and while they adored each other, they never missed a chance to bicker. Honestly, I was half-convinced they did it just to fuel some weird angry-sex ritual.
“Okay, fine—we bickered. It took us three hours to agree on a paint color. But we made up in record time.”
“Oh, I’ll bet you did,” I say with a wink.
Her cheeks turn a shade that nearly matches her hair. “Do you have anything fun planned?” she asks, swiftly changing the subject.
“Does building an enclosure for Winston count?”
“Absolutely not. Come on, Quinn. You don’t have a job right now. Why don’t you get out and live a little?” She waggles hereyebrows at me.
“Iamliving,” I argue.
“No. You’re caretaking. That’s different. You don’t have work as an excuse anymore. I know you like to stay busy and be productive, but damn, girl—you need to let loose and have some fun.”
