“No,” I admitted. “I was so in shock I lost my words for a period of time.”
“Your British politeness was a hindrance wasn’t it?”
I smiled. “You may have a point.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“Because it would have taken you an hour just to get over the bridge. I figured Triple A would be faster and in the end, the nice but scruffy man who helped me was even faster.”
“Mmmm, scruffy good or scruffy bad?”
I thought about that question for a second. Mr. Hatch had long, dark hair, pulled back into a partial ponytail, which was sexy as heck, and his beard was full and slightly peppered with grey, but not out of control. He obviously manscaped, which a woman like me appreciated. “Scruffy good.” I nodded. “Definitely good.”
Ali giggled. “Onlyyouwould meet some hot guy after blowing a fuse.”
“No doubt.” I smiled. “How’s Poppy?”
Ali was watching my twelve-year-old daughter while I took some time for me.
“She’s good.”
“Hi Mummy,” she called in the background.
“Hi Poppet.” I smiled. God, I loved that girl. “I should be there in about twenty minutes.”
“Okay, we’ll see you then,” Ali said.
Ali hung up and I continued down the freeway. My thoughts turned to Mr. Hatch, then almost as quickly to my very dead husband, Niall. It had been nine years, but I was still quite miffed with him for leaving me. We’d been in the States for about five years when he got cancer and beat it into remission twice.
Unfortunately, third time was the charm in the form of a nail in his literal coffin, and he was gone. We thought we had more time. We didn’t. If Ali and her cop husband, Ryan, hadn’t been there, not only would I have crumbled, the business Niall and I had built together would have as well. Much to my family’s disappointment, I had no intention of going back to England and had sent my brother home alone despite his pleas for me to join him. Even my sister Kenna, whom I was closest to, couldn’t convince me to go back. I’d needed the distance.
I could only thank God that Poppy was too young to remember, because truly, I think it would have broken her. It took me a good two years and two visits a week to a therapist to get to the point where I could get out of bed in the morning on my own. Currently, I was down to one visit a month for “maintenance.”
I was now somewhat in control of my insanity and no one could be happier than me. Or maybe Poppy. Or Ali. I sighed. Now I was even rambling in my head. Maybe I wasn’t in control after all.
I pulled up to Ali’s home and climbed out of the car, rushing up to the front door and letting myself in. “Mummy’s home,” I called.
“Kitchen,” Ali returned.
I headed through the large great room and into the newly renovated kitchen, where my daughter wrapped her arms around my waist and squeezed. “Can I stay a little longer, Mum? Please?”
“Sure, darling. Fifteen minutes, okay?”
She let out a little girl squeal and went to find Ali’s daughter, her best friend, Grace. Ryan and Ali also had a twelve-year-old son, Merrick, who was probably lying in wait to torture his sister. I hugged Ali briefly, then pried off my heels and sat at her island.
“You hungry?” she asked, pulling open the fridge and grabbing me a bottled water.
“No, I have Chinese waiting in the car. Have you eaten?”
“No. Kids did, but I’ll wait for Ryan. I did feed Poppy, hope that’s okay.”
“You can feed my kid anytime,” I said with a chuckle. “She likes your food better than mine anyway… although, tonight it’s takeout. More for me.”
She grinned. “Did you snap a photo of the hottie mechanic?”
I shook my head. “I probably should have, eh? God, lovey, the more I think about him…” I sighed. “He was edible. Rollo from Vikings edible.”
Ali joined me at the island. “So… not your type.”
