“Love you.” The kiss Fallon gifts me makes me weak in the knees.
“Love you more,” I tell him.
A goofy smile lights his face, one I’ve never seen before. I put it to memory so I can dream about it tonight when I go to sleep.
The trunk closes, and Xander slides into the driver’s seat. “No traffic delays on I-40 to RDU. We should be there in an hour.”
“Take care of my girl,” Fallon says, and it’s my turn with the goofy smile.
After one last kiss, he shuts the door. Our palms touch on either side of the glass, then he steps back when Xander pulls out of the driveway. Turning in my seat, I look out the back windshield until Fallon disappears from view.
“I hear congratulations are in order,” Xander says.
My thumb rubs over my ring finger, but there’s nothing there now, the habit of twirling my wedding rings a subconscious one.
“Thank you. I’m still a little shell-shocked. I never thought I’d get married again.” Or fall in love again. “And you’re coming to the wedding.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He chuckles.
The dreaded ma’am. A staple of Southern decorum, but something that makes me feel old when I’m addressed that way. “All my friends call me Elizabeth. Fallon said you were ex-military?” I ask, wanting to get to know him better.
“Yes.”
I wait for him to say more, like what branch of the military or how many tours he served. When he doesn’t offer anything else, I don’t pester him with any more questions. I don’t know what his experience was like or what conflicts he saw. The brutality of war, the demons a lot of servicemen return home with, can scar them in unimaginable ways. PTSD. Physical and emotional trauma. Debilitating injuries. So I respect the boundary he just placed and leave it be.
Taking the scone out of the bag, I nibble on it and drink my coffee while I gaze out the window.
“Seattle is a great town. I’ve been there a few times.”
“It’s where my dau—” My phone chimes, alerting me to a text message. “Sorry,” I apologize, putting my scone back in the bag and fishing out my phone.
Julien: Wanted to wish you a safe trip.
After the blowup at the cookout, Julien walked on eggshells around me for a few days before I got fed up with it. I wasn’t angry with him or Jayson or Fallon…or even Ryder. I was more hurt that their good intentions, once again, took away my right to decide. Yes, I was upset, but I got over it. It wasn’t worth the wasted energy over something that transpired twenty-some years ago.
Me: Thanks. Do me a favor. Check on Fallon while I’m gone. Make sure the kids are behaving and not taking advantage.
Knowing Charlotte and her persuasive ways, I’m terrified that I’ll come home to some fancy sports car sitting in the driveway that she got Fallon to buy her.
Julien: Is he on babysitting duty?
I chew on my thumbnail, wondering how to ease into the topic of Fallon and me. I want to tell him about the engagement, but that kind of news isn’t something you blurt out, then hang up and hop on a plane.
Me: He lives there, so not exactly babysitting.
Dots bounce. Bounce some more. I almost drop the phone when it rings.
“You asked him to move in?” Julien says before I can say hi.
“He never really left.”
It’s weird how it doesn’tfeel weirdthat Fallon has practically been living with us since he came back with me. As soon as he walked through the front door, it was like he always belonged there.
There’s a scuffling noise on the other end, then the sound of a door closing. “E and I were hoping things were heading in that direction. I’m happy for you, Liz.”
Xander turns onto Fallen Brook Drive. I called Jayson this morning to let him know I’d be picking him up.
“We’re almost at the house. Talk more when we get back.”
