“She had to change her initial flight,” I answered honestly. “Something about a quick trip to Alaska.”
“But she’s still planning on being back in time for the festival?”
I rolled over onto my side, propping myself up with one hand. “Oh, she’s practically signed herself up for the decorations committee. Plus, she volunteered to do all the photography free of charge.”
“That sounds like Kaylani.”
“I, for one, can’t wait to meet her,” Clarke added.
“Clarke, I have to tell you.” I paused to bite down on another cherry, plucking it off the stem with my teeth. “I might never leave. This yard, the house—”
“The cherries?” June added.
“I know.” Clarke sighed wistfully. “It’s a little odd to think that six months ago, I was planning a wedding to somebody else—a man who barely knew me, mostly because I barely knew myself—and look at me now. Shacking up with a pro-baseball player three thousand miles from home.”
Clarke fingered the hem of her skirt.
“Honey,” I told her, resting my hand over her nervous fingers. “Thisisyour home. Soren is your home.”
June came around my chair, planting herself down beside Clarke.
“Don’t forget about us,” she said, smacking her hand on top of both of ours.
I stared down at our stack and smiled. Matte black nails on unpolished claws on delicate French tips. We made quite the trio. The femme but fierce Musketeers.
When Clarke looked up, she had moisture in her eyes. “You’re right. I’m probably just being silly—”
“No,” I corrected. “You’re being a woman. It’s our burden to feel guilty for everything, especially men’s bad behavior.”
June blinked. “Damn.”
“It’s true.”
Women put up with so much shit,toomuch shit. Even before my dad had left, I’d seen the way my mom had excused the things he did—and didn’t do. Forgotten birthdays, missed softball games, late after school pickups—Mom had always had a reason for his absence. He couldn’t even come up with his own excuses. He hadn’t needed to when Mom had done it for him.
Until recently, Clarke had been living on her father and ex-fiancé’s terms. There was no justifiable reason for her to feel guilty simply for living her life.
I sat up, twisting to face her until we were knee to knee. “Don’t feel bad for being happy. You don’t owe anybody anything.”
She blinked back her unshed tears and smiled. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” June echoed. My friend had never met a party she didn’t want to be a part of, and that included a pity party.
“Okay?” a new voice added.
I glanced over my shoulder and just about fell out of my seat when I saw who was standing behind me and, more specifically, what she was wearing.
Dani in ripped jeans and leather boots was par for the course. Dani in a strapless sundress with her vibrant neck and shoulder tattoos on full display was a goddamn vision.
“Hells bells,” Clarke exclaimed at the same time as June’s, “Holy shit.”
“Damn, girl. You—” I stumbled over my words—and feet—as I climbed out of my seat to get a closer look. “You look . . . get out of the most comfortable chair in the world hot.”
All three of us surrounded her, gawking like she was the eighth Wonder of the World.
“What’s the occasion?” I asked.
