The house’s interior is warm and lived-in, with dog beds in every room, overflowing bookshelves, and a myriad of framed photos that make me yearn for memories I’d want to display.You could have them with Avah, an internal voice whispers before I command it to pipe down.
Sloane leads me into a spacious living room where five members of her beloved book club are arranged across a couch, a recliner, an oversized armchair, and the floor. Okay, then. I’ve just walked into a well-organized ambush.
Sadie Hart Barlowe, gold-flecked brown eyes and long blonde hair, sits cross-legged on the floor with a corgi napping against her thigh. Iris Dixon, Skylark’s former interim mayor, occupies the armchair, her legs crossed and her dark gaze locked on me, like the verdict’s still out as to whether I’m worth the trouble. Taylor Maxwell’s tall and willowy frame is folded onto one end of thecouch, and Molly McAllister anchors the other end, red hair pulled back, green eyes bright with an energy that reads as both friendly and intimidating. Piper Hart rounds out the lineup from a leather recliner, one hand resting on her pregnant belly.
Five women. No Avah.
“Sit down, Jeremy.” Iris gestures to a vacant dining chair that’s been pulled into the room and positioned in the center.
I cross my arms. “I think I’ll stand.”
“Please sit.” Molly’s voice carries the quiet authority of a woman who deftly balances managing a successful business with raising eight-year-old twins and a fiancé who used to ride bulls for a living. I understand it’s not a request.
And I sit because five-on-one odds aren’t stacked in my favor.
“We’d like to discuss your intentions toward Avah.” Sadie employs the calm tone of someone used to handling nervous animals. Given the way my pulse is hammering, that tracks.
“My intentions?”
“Toward Avah,” Piper repeats. “What are they? That’s the question.”
“I’d like to take a pass on answering.”
Iris leans forward. “No passes given.”
“Does Avah know about this?”
“We’re the ones asking questions.” Taylor’s voice is softer than the rest, but still firm.
I look at Sloane, who appears to be waiting for someone to hand her a bag of popcorn so she can really enjoy the show. Traitor.
“Avah and I have a professional arrangement. I helped her out of a difficult situation in Bora Bora, and she’s assisting me with a business opportunity. Her marketing background is an asset to the partnership negotiations.”
“And this arrangement involves weekend sleepovers?” Molly props her chin on her fist. “We might need to discuss how you defineprofessional.”
My neck gets hot. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I run early on Saturday mornings.” Iris unfolds and re-crosses her legs. “Your Range Rover was parked behind the bakery at five a.m. It doesn’t exactly blend in.”
“My vehicle’s location is none of your bus?—”
“Oh, please.” Piper waves a hand. “Schtoinking our friend makes it our business.”
Christ, these women operate like a covert intelligence agency with better snacks. I rub the back of my neck and glare at no one in particular, but don’t deny the schtoinking bit. “Avah and I are friends.”
Which is like calling the Pacific Ocean a swimming pool, but what else am I supposed to say?
“Avah’s been through a lot.” Sadie gives the corgi an absent scratch behind the ears. “She might pretend to be made of Teflon, but there’s a soft side underneath her armor. If she’s letting you in, that matters.”
“I know it matters,” I nearly shout in response. In a less unhinged tone, I add, “Shematters.”
Molly’s eyes narrow slightly. “So, what are your intentions?”
I’m not going to get out of here without answering that question. Fine. I let my gaze move to each of the book club members as I drag in a steadying breath. “I know what she’s been through. Not all of it, but enough to know that if she’d let me, I’d destroy the men who hurt her and not lose a minute of sleep.”
I scrub a hand over my jaw. “But she also doesn’t need me to slay her dragons. I want her to see herself the way you all do. The way I do. She’s funnier than she thinks she is, braver than she gives herself credit for, and has spent so long convincing everyone she’s fine, she’s forgotten that it’s okay not to be. I get who she is underneath the armor, and if you think I’d do anything to hurt her?—”
I pause, wondering if I’ve said enough or possibly too much, but these women keep watching me. Beast has wandered in fromthe hallway and is sitting at my feet, staring up at me. Even the dog is waiting.
