Ugh. My head is pounding as I remember everything from the night before. It wasn’t a nightmare. It was real. My eyes well with tears as I think of the damage to my kitchen. My dad and I spent hours sanding my hundred-year-old wood floors and painting the old cabinets in the kitchen white to brighten the space. We added new hardware and made my cozy little craftsman perfect for me with a mix of warm woods, soft comfortable fabrics, and décor. The old fireplace in the living room was restored to its original wood-burning status and the mantel is a pretty walnut color, home to family photos and trinkets I’ve collected over the years. My house was my safe space and now it’s in shambles.
“Babe?” I hear CeCe call through the cabin wall now.
“Here,” I croak, rubbing my eyes with the heels of my palms as Ginger’s and CeCe’s smiling faces appear at the bedroom door. CeCe is holding an extra-large latte from Spicer’s.Bless her damn soul.
“Why didn’t you call us?” Ginger asks, taking a seat on the edge of my bed and wrapping her arms around me. Her long, curly brown hair smells like coconut.
“Holy shit, you smell like a vineyard. Whathappenedlast night?” She wrinkles her nose and I flop back down. I can’t tell them the reason I was drinking was because every time one of them talks about their glowing future it feels like a stab to the heart.
“I was just having some wine. Maybe too much wine,” I admit. “I was feeling lonely, I guess. Ever since Biscuit died my house is so quiet.” I look up to their faces full of pity and I hateit.
“Anyway, I thought I would bake some banana bread. Wayne said I must have used wax paper instead of parchment to line my pan. They’re pretty sure that’s what caught fire.”
“You should’ve called. You could’ve stayed with us.” CeCe sits at the foot of my bed, running a hand over her five-month baby bump. Her long blond hair is in a high messy bun and the navy Henley she wears is snug, making her look like she’s ready to pop.
“As if I’m going to interrupt what little sleep you get right now,” I say before turning to Ginger. “And your spare room is taken over by wedding props and gifts. Asher thought to ask your mom.”
CeCe raises an eyebrow, her green eyes dancing with intrigue. “Asherthought? He mentioned he was on the scene, but finding you a space to stay, that’s going above and beyond.”
I only hear the first part of her sentence, not acknowledging that it is above and beyond for him to take care of me when he hardly knows me.
“He mentioned it? When?”
“This morning. He was at the big house.”
I glance down, knowing the look CeCe is giving me. She and Ginger have always said that there was some kind of spark between us. Every time we’re at the Horse and Barrel and he delivers our drinks, or side-eyes me, one of them nudges me. I’m not denying I’m drawn to Asher, but most of the time it feels as though it pains him to say more than two words to me.
“It was strictly professional. He brought me here after they put out the fire and he medically cleared me.”
I remember the way his eyes dropped to my lips, before I push the vision from my mind. Instead, I glance at the clock on the wall, noting it’s only seven-thirty in the morning. News travels fast.
“Don’t you have an appointment?” I ask CeCe, attemptingto change the subject. She shakes her head immediately. “Uh-uh. You’re not doing that, my appointment is hours away. What do you need? We’re here foryou.”
I take a deep breath and look between my best friends.
“I need to call my insurance company. I need to call my parents. But first, I need coffee.” I motion grabby hands at CeCe.
“He asked about you, you know,” she says as she places the paper cup in my hand.
I shy away from her smug look. “Just doing his job,” I mumble.
“We told him how grateful you were that he was there, and that we’d say hi for him,” Ginger adds.
“Because you’re shit disturbers,” I deadpan.
Ginger pushes her dark curls off her shoulder with a giggle.
“He also said you’ll need some water and Tylenol. He probably does that for everyone though. Strictly professional.”
I feel myself blush. “Nothing is going on.” “We know, but the real question iswhy not?” she asks, waggling her eyebrows playfully. I look up at her. She doesn’t understand; she met her soulmate when she was a teenager, even if it took them years to admit it.
“Look, I’ll be honest. Seeing the two of you settled, happy, planning out your blissful futures, it’s made me crave what you both have. But Asher Reed isn’t the answer. We are total opposites in every way.”
The two of them look at each other and try not to laugh.
“He doesn’t need to be your future to be …fun,” Ginger offers.
“The problem with you two”—I point to both of my best friends—“is that you’ve gone from baddies to married little biddies now and are just searching for juicy drama where there isn’t any.”
