“She’s Callie’s best friend,” Decker says, ever the voice of reason.
Easton rolls his eyes.
Before I can tell Decker that I’m not as admirable as he is, Leighton comes back downstairs wearing a shirt and a pair of jeans—jeans that hug her ass so tightly, I even catch Easton looking.
I give him a scolding look while Decker nudges Easton with his shoulder.
“We’re gonna head out,” Decker says.
Lincoln and Monroe instantly whine, obviously overhearing from the other room.
“Sorry, boys, you’re committed now. You have to see it through.” Leighton grabs Monroe’s hand, and the two of them leave the house.
Lincoln is right at Easton’s side, and Decker and I follow behind. Decker gives me an expression to say he tried. And he did. Just not hard enough.
Chapter
Nineteen
Leighton
* * *
Monroe and I lead the pack as we walk three blocks to the ice cream shop. I haven’t felt this unburdened since Sky died—all thanks to Hayes. Decker and Easton too, but it was Hayes who put this whole day into motion. It’s rare for me to trust someone completely, and even rarer for it to work out.
Rounding the corner of where the ice cream shop is, I freeze. A long line wraps around the block, but what really stops me in my tracks is the ripple of recognition traveling through the patrons. Heads turn, elbows nudge sides, and fans peel away from their spots in line, drifting toward us.
Monroe steps beside me and squeezes my hand, while Lincoln comes along my other side. Within seconds, Hayes, Decker, and Easton are surrounded by fans clamoring for photos and autographs. One guy even dashes over to the counter and asks for a pen and paper. Only minutes ago, they were regular guys sitting around our dinner table. Now they’re celebrities.
Everyone wants to talk baseball, giving compliments with play-by-plays from today’s game. One guy won’t stop going on and on about Easton’s glove in the fourth.
Monroe tugs my sleeve. “I want my ice cream.”
Hayes must hear her because he glances up after giving an autograph. When he sees us standing to the side, he smiles, then peels away and joins us. “Let’s get our ice cream.”
His hand slips to the small of my back, and I can’t deny how much I want to lean into his touch. He ushers us into line, his other hand on Monroe’s shoulder as we wait our turn.
“So, what are you getting, Linc?” Hayes asks. The way he shortens his name twists something in me, as though he’s part of us.
“I want cookie dough,” Lincoln replies. “What’s your favorite?”
“Mint Oreo—not to be confused with mint chocolate chip,” I say, already wishing I could take it back.
Hayes’s fingers flex along my back.
“How do you know?” Lincoln asks me with a confused look on his face.
I have nothing to be embarrassed about. Logically, I know about Hayes—I’m his sister’s best friend. I went to Myrtle Beach with his family more than once, and who doesn’t get ice cream on a beach vacation?
“I’ve known Hayes a long time. And when someone is really picky about their ice cream, you tend to remember.” I try to keep my voice casual and light, but I’m not sure if I succeed.
“Picky?” Hayes leans in, his warm breath brushing my neck. “They’re completely different flavors.”
“Both mint.” I smile.
“I want sprinkles.” Monroe inches up on her toes to see how much closer we are to the front of the line.
I’m happy for the interruption and change of topic.
