“Yeah. I’m okay. Why?”
“I’m sorry if you don’t want to come to dinner because I made you uncomfortable.”
“It’s not?—”
“No, please. Let me say this.”
He takes a deep breath, then releases it.
“I overstepped. I’m not going to lie, I think there’s something here. But more than anything, I want to be your friend. I’d like to know more about the woman I met in that bar. Hell, I’d like to see more of the man I was that night.”
He doesn’t realize he’s being him right now.
“I liked when we were them, but that’s not real. Life throws stuff at people, and that’s the reality. I don’t even know who that woman was.” My words are hushed, and there’s a sadness in them.
“I do. I know who that woman was and is. You, Bets,” he whispers. “You’re still her. Wearethem. We were us, just more relaxed and not thinking about all the hard stuff for one night.”
I’m tongue-tied for so long after his mini-speech that I think he’s starting to worry.
“Bets? Say something, anything. But please don’t say I can’t at least be your friend. Say anything but that.”
I gaze up at him, the air in the room thick with tension, and I whisper, “I like mushrooms on my pizza…”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Harrison
“Okay, don’t think I’m some kind of sex-crazed creep, but doesn’t my husband look hot right now?” Tillie says to Delaney.
She probably doesn’t think I can hear her—not that she’d care— from where I’m sitting cross-legged on my hardwood floor, locked in an intense game of Crazy Eights with Layla.
I glance over at Henry as he walks around the dining room area of my open-concept first floor with a drowsy Lena lying on his chest. She’s angelic, with her head on her dad’s shoulder, her left hand wrapped around his neck, and her right hand clutching her pink stuffed bunny. Henry rubs slow circles on her back, and the size of his hand highlights just how small she is.
I know exactly where Delaney is at any given moment. Right now, she’s resting on the couch with Tillie, and hopefully, with a full belly. When we had dinner, she barely ate at first, a worrisome pattern I’ve noticed several times. I haven’t figured out why, and that drives me nuts. So, when she only ate one piece of pizza at dinner, I grabbed another plate, added a secondpiece and some salad, and set it down in front of her without any explanation. Her eyebrows rose to her hairline, and her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink, but I ignored it. She ate nearly every bite.
I liked taking care of her, even in such a minuscule way.
“I don’t think you’re sex-crazed… Or a creep. I think you’re just a woman in love and happy. It’s wonderful to watch your family together. Thanks for including me tonight.”
I can’t hear the rest of what they say, but the yearning in her voice when she talks about family causes me to wonder why she’s never spoken about hers. Or why I’m such a selfish asshat that I’ve never asked. I need to change that.
Layla’s giggling draws my attention.
“Are you cheating, Ladybug?” There’s drama and playfulness in my accusatory tone.
“I’m not cheating, Uncle Harry! You’re just not good at this game.”
“How dare you!” I feign appalled. “I’m an excellent player. I think there’s some eights hidden under your butt andthat’swhy you’re winning.”
“Not true!” Layla tries to look outraged at the suggestion as she scrunches her adorable face, but her bright smile betrays her.
I love the innocent, carefree sound of her laughter as it escapes her. I hope life is kind to her, and she always chuckles like that.
“I don’t believe you, Ladybug. You know the tickle monster comes out when he thinks someone’s not telling the truth.” I wiggle my fingers tauntingly.
“No, Uncle Harry. I mean it. I’m tellin’ the truth.” She scoots a few more inches away from me.
“If you don’t stand up and let me see…” I shrug.
