“It’s really not.” Austen crumpled up her muffin wrapper. “You love her. You never stopped loving her. And I happen to know she never got serious with anyone else after you two split.”
Being relevant intel, that caught my attention. “You don’t know that.”
“Actually, I do. We have coffee at least twice a month.” She hit me with that smug look she’d perfected by age twelve. “What? Just because you two got divorced doesn’t mean we stopped being friends. And trust me, big brother, complicated is just another word for scared.”
Time to turn the tables. “That the voice of experience talking?”
“What do you mean?”
“Just that somebody told me you’d been seen out with Clint since he got back.”
It had been a total guess, but her face went pale. “He took me to Gretchen’s wedding, so I didn’t have to face down Trevor alone.”
Ah, the douchewaffle. I was glad she hadn’t had to deal with him on her own.
“Mm-hmm. That why you were wearing his shirt this morning?”
The deer-in-headlights look was back. I took a few seconds to enjoy it—big brother privilege—before taking pity. “Look, if you two are into each other, it’s none of my business. You’re a grown adult.”
“Are you… giving your blessing?”
“Not that you need it.” What was I, a caveman? She wasn’t property. She was a consenting adult.
Her jaw dropped before she caught herself. “Well, that’s not at all how I expected this to go.”
“How did you expect it to go?”
“Possibly with your fist in his face.”
“If I thought he was playing, it would have. But I know him better than that. He wouldn’t cross that line if you didn’t matter.”
She launched herself at me for a hug. “Welcome home, big bro. Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s somewhere I need to be.”
My sister disappeared like a woman on a mission, and I dragged myself to my feet. Time to get that visit home and Mom’s inevitable scolding over with.
Two
Pepper
I arranged the last slice of prosciutto on the board, stepping back to admire my handiwork. The spread looked like something out of a fancy food magazine—cheeses nestled against clusters of grapes, honey drizzled just so, olives gleaming in their little ceramic dish. Not bad for someone who spent her day slinging hash browns and refilling coffee mugs. I actually did a lot more than that, but they were diner staples for a reason.
“Perfect.” I added a light dusting of red pepper flakes over one corner of the board—my special addition that my friends had learned to expect. Some thought it was sacrilege to spice up good cheese, but hell, my diner wasn’t called Kiss My Grits for nothing.
The sunflowers from Bloomsday brightened my kitchen table, their yellow faces almost glowing in the candlelight. I’d splurged on them yesterday, knowing I’d need something cheerful after the Sunday rush nearly broke me. Brunch and Sunday lunch were always a challenge, but two servers had called in sick, and I’d spent half the day playing server while trying to manage the kitchen.
I rolled my shoulders, feeling the day’s tension knotted between my shoulder blades. Joss Stone’s smooth voice flowed from discreet speakers, singing about late nights and lost loves. The music wrapped around me like a warm blanket as I poured myself a glass of red wine.
“You’ve earned this, DeLuca.” I took a sip and closed my eyes. The wine was excellent—another splurge, but girls’ night deserved better than the boxed stuff.
I’d barely settled onto the sofa and kicked my sock feet up onto the coffee table when a knock sounded on the door. The garage door, since the front porch was now becoming a hazard. It had been old but decent enough when Rhett and I bought the house shortly after we married, so it had been pushed on down the list of projects, after painting, ripping out floors, and rehabbing the kitchen that was the heart of the place. I supposed I should have been grateful for the fact that he’d stuck around long enough for that. The kitchen was the biggest job, for sure. But since our divorce, I simply hadn’t had the time to take on any other home improvement projects. Paying the mortgage on only one income was a challenge as it was. I could’ve sold the house, moved into a smaller place. But I simply hadn’t been able to make myself. Maybe because I wasn’t ready for that final step in grieving my marriage.
Shaking off the thought, I went to answer. Allie Taggart and Jess Donnegan stood on my stoop, each of them with more girls’ night contributions in hand. Jess had supplied the gourmet chocolate, and Allie more wine. I knew Meghan Garcia, our fourth Musketeer, was at a trade show in Birmingham for the night, so it was just us three.
“Ladies.” I waved them in, waiting until they’d added their packages to the island before I folded them each into a hug. “Man, I really need this tonight.”
Allie spotted my wine glass where I’d set it down on the counter. “Getting started without us?”
I grinned as I scooped up the glass. “Only a little bit.”
