“Should I be worried about it?” I ask, my tone wavering. She glosses over the word documents like it’s inconsequential, but everyone knows that if documents are involved, something is happening. Something big. Usually legal.
Like the selling of a property.
Her smile is bright. “Absolutely not. You go enjoy your night with your sister and have your rear end in church tomorrow. Then I’ll feed you lunch, and we’ll go over everything. Truly, don’t worry about it.”
“Why haven’t you had one of these talks with Markie?”
“She’s here just about every Sunday for lunch,” Lolly says. “She’ll be here tomorrow, and we’ll chat about it together.” She shrugs. “I don’t have to schedule a time with her like I do you.”
That’s fair, but it also stings. Lolly would never say that to be snide or critical. She’s always supported my wanderlust, even if she doesn’t love it. Yet I don’t get weekly lunches with her like my sister. I don’t get enough time with Markie, either. It’s a thought that crosses my mind when I let it, more often the older I get.
Time is precious. But so is my mental health.
She squeezes my face before dropping her hands to her side. The look she gives me is like a hug for my heart, the closest thing to a hug from my mom as I’ll ever get. And I don’t take it for granted.
I pull her into my arms and hold her for a long moment, breathing in her perfume again, loving how her energy seeps into me. Then I kiss her cheek again and head back to my car.
The engine purrs as I latch my seat belt. But, before I pull out, I sit and stare at the house.
Being here feels like pressing on a bruise that I never let heal. Every corner of this house—every room, every throw pillow—holds a bit of something that I love. And something that hurts. After a while, I learned it was easier to leave than sort through which was which.
It’s not the best solution, but it works for me.
Mostly.
CHAPTER
FIVE
Hartley
“Hey, Hartley,” Jasper says, holding the door to Patsy’s open for me.
I blow out a breath into the brisk night air.
Voices and music pour out of the bar as Jasper waits for me. He tips back a beer, watching me over the bottle with a set of wary eyes. We haven’t seen each other in a couple of weeks—not since the news got around that he cheated on Markie St. James. Markie and I aren’t close, and I couldn’t give a shit about her love life. But if a man will betray his woman, he’ll betray anybody. And I’m not co-signing that behavior.Fuck that.
I nod, sliding by Jasper. “Thanks.”
“Sure thing,” he says, his voice filled with hope that maybe I’ll continue the conversation. He seems to get the picture, though, because the door swings shut behind me without another word.
“Shit,” I mutter, surveying the scene in front of me. Even for a Saturday night, Patsy’s is packed. There’s no place to sit, and barely any space to stand since tables were pushed away from the center of the building to create an impromptu dance floor.
I’m about to sayscrew itand head home when I hear the faint sound of my name between songs. It takes a long minute to find the origin, but when I finally do, Brooks is waving at me with a beer in his hand from the back.
I weave my way toward him, sliding my phone out of my pocket as it buzzes.
Brooks: Back of the bar. I got you a beer.
“Wish I’d gotten that message five minutes ago,” I mumble, wondering where in the hell all these people came from.
“Sorry,” Brooks says as I approach the table. “I sent that text as soon as you walked in, but the signal in this place is trash.”
“Hi, Hart,” Audrey says, smiling sweetly. Her trademark pink ribbon twists down her blond hair as she curls into Brooks’s side.
Drake Bennett reaches a hand my way. “Good to see you, Hartley.”
“Hey,” I say, shaking his hand before sitting next to him. I nod at his girl, Gianna, on the other side of him. “I didn’t know you guys were in town.”
