“Easton Bailey went too?” she asks. “You just jumped twenty rungs on Lincoln’s favorites ladder.” She steals a chip and leans against the counter.
“Decker Davis is here too.”
Her hand and half-eaten chip fall to her side. “Seriously?” She breaks across the room and looks out the window. “And he’s painting rocks with Monroe?” She turns back toward me. “Take a picture of that, and he’ll have women lined up outside your building. What are they calling it now? The Saloon?”
“Saloon? Colts are horses, not drunks.”
She chuckles. “Sorry for not keeping up with the diamond girls.”
“But you did know they’re debating what to call our building?” I lift an eyebrow. It shouldn’t feel as good as it does that she’s keeping tabs on me. Sort of. In a roundabout way.
“It’s not a big deal… but honestly, Tweetie Sorensen has a big mouth and kept carrying on about it when Tedi delivered their baby.”
And there goes that hope, popped before the balloon even blew all the way up.
“What’s your opinion?” I slice the tomatoes.
“I don’t have one, but if I snap that picture and post it, all those girly notes that get left at your building will only be for Decker.” She nods toward the back patio, veering our conversation in a different direction.
“Now you’re making me jealous.”
She giggles, not taking me seriously, although I’m about ready to ditch the meal prep to go paint rocks.
“Ah, don’t worry, you’re feeding me. I’ll take that over being nice to a little girl any day.” She reaches past me for another chip. She’s so close, and the way her strawberry-blonde hair is pulled up in a messy bun, exposing her neck, makes me want to bend down and place my lips there.
“Good to know. Food wins for you.”
What a fucking lame line. Jesus, do better, Carlisle.
“Food and massages.” She pops the chip into her mouth.
“You’re heartless.” In my mind, she’s not wearing scrubs. She’s naked under me as my hands roam her body.
She gives what I interpret as a flirty smile. “What did the boys get on their nails?”
“Easton wanted to say, ‘Fuck Texas,’ but he ended up having to say, ‘Boo Texas.’ Because, you know, we’re with a six- and a nine-year-old.”
She laughs again. It sounds really nice, and I realize how much I’ve missed it.
“Do you mind that they’re over? Can I introduce you?” I wipe my hands on the dishcloth and motion toward the back door.
“Couldn’t handle the kids yourself?”
I take the jab and open the back door. Now, all four of them are painting rocks. They all look up mid-stroke.
“Hey, best friend.” Easton smiles and waves.
She turns to me, and I shrug.
“Easton Bailey, this is Leighton Sinclair. Leighton, Easton. And this is Decker Davis. Leighton, Decker.”
They all say hello, and she takes a seat with them. Monroe ditches the painting and crawls into Leighton’s lap.
“Look.” She wiggles her fingers. “Pretty.”
“I love daisies—they’re my favorite,” Leighton tells her.
“I know.” Monroe holds them up in the air, admiring them again. “And look—Lincoln got his done.”
