Charli huffs. “She’s the worst. Like, she’s walking gonorrhea with a side of crabs.”
A giggle flies from my lips. “That’s…eww.”
“Well, it’s true. She’s a nasty bitch, and I don’t say that lightly or easily.” She sobers, the anger slowly ebbing from her face. “It’s not my story to tell, Lizzie. Just talk to Collin. Make him tell you.”
I swallow over the sudden lump of emotion lodged in my throat. “I don’t want to push him.”
Before I even get that statement out, she’s already shaking her head. “No, he needs pushing. You were completely unprepared for whatever the hell that was out there, and that’s not right. He’s an idiot.”
That makes me smile. I want to reply,“He may be an idiot, but he’s my idiot.”
But is that accurate? If what Whitney said was true, there’s a lot of baggage to unpack with their history, and maybe that’s why he’s never committed to someone long term.
“Don’t do that. Don’t buy into whatever she told you. I’m serious. You need to talk to Collin.”
I nod, knowing she’s right. I need all the facts before I let my imagination fill in all the missing pieces to the story. “You’re right.”
She grins back at me. “I’m always right, you’ll realize that.” With a wink she adds, “Now, let’s get out of here. I’m freezing my tits off.”
A bark of laughter flies from my mouth as I scoop up the cases and exit the cooler. Charli closes the door behind me and follows me as I return to the bar. I glance around, not spotting Whitney or her friends anywhere.
“They left,” Mom says.
I nod, not having to explain anything. No surprise she picked up on my tension and the uneasiness I felt. Hell, she probably caught the exchange by the food table. Just like when we were younger, my mom misses nothing.
She doesn’t say anything, but the look she gives me lets me know this conversation isn’t over. She’s going to want details, but she’s not going to request them now. “Come on, Em, let’s help get all this food packed up.”
“There are some large baggies in the storage room if you want to bag up what’s left in little goodie bags. I’ll send them home with everyone,” I state, turning back to help tidy up the painting area.
Thirty minutes later, we have everything put back together, and Mom and Em are preparing to leave. “Take what you want back with you,” I tell them as Mom pulls me into a big hug.
“We will, honey. I put two bags in the cooler for you and Jani and handed the rest of them to your regulars who are still sitting at the bar.”
The fact she’s doing exactly what I’d do and taking care of the regulars makes me smile. “Thank you, Mom.”
“Of course,” she replies, stepping back and letting Em slip in for a hug.
“Text me when you get home,” I tell them, making Mom smile at the irony.
“I will, sweetie.”
“And tell Dad you’re on your way. He’ll worry,” I add, causing her to laugh.
“He’s already texting me asking.”
“Be safe. Love you.”
“Love you more,” she replies.
Grabbing their paintings and their snack bags, which I’m certain Em will dive into on their hour-long drive back to Stewart Grove, they head for the exit, waving as they go. A wave of sadness washes over me like a spring rain. I love it when my family is here, but it seems I miss them even more when they leave.
Robotically, I make it through the rest of the evening, and when it’s time to close down, Jani and I are more than ready. Collin is on my mind once more, but now those thoughts are filled with questions and uncertainty. I’m aware the only way to get the answers to the questions bouncing around in my head isto ask Collin. Unfortunately, I probably won’t get those answers until sometime Monday.
When the building is locked up and the lights are off, I head upstairs, ready for bed. I move through my nightly routine, including taking a quick shower. Finally, I climb into bed and feel my energy just drain from my body.
Of course, my bed is cold, and it makes me miss the one man I wish were here with me. Grabbing my phone off my nightstand, I look at our most recent text exchange, the one from earlier today. He hasn’t sent anything in more than ten hours. I’m sure he’s just busy, or perhaps the fire call they received is still an issue. Either way, a bubble of worry churns in my stomach.
I flip from side to side, trying to find a comfortable position to no avail. Finally, I tap my phone screen once more and bring up his name. I might not be able to talk to him, but I sure as hell can let him know I’m thinking of him. I can’t stop thinking about him. He’s always on my mind, sending my heart fluttering.
