“Mom always insisted I keep it for the girls.” I shrug, then point out the obvious. “It’s special to them. It’s truly the only place they’ve ever called home for any length of time, and I’d never take those memories from them. Besides, that place is way too big for just me.”
“So…” Faye draws out as if she’s piecing things together, “all of your girls live there now?”
“They did… Until each of them got married. Now, it’s just Lanie and her family.”
Before Faye can make more presumptions, I quickly add, “Sloane bought the house next door, and Raven’s got a place just down the street. Lizzy lives within walking distance—though most everything in this town is technically walking distance, I suppose.”
Faye lets out a low whistle. “Wow, your girls must be doing well for themselves to nab prime real estate like that. Jane always said they were a tight bunch. I’m glad to hear things haven’t changed. Though I can’t imagine living that close to my siblings,” she muses.
Before I can respond, she gasps, drawing my attention. “Wait… If they all live next to one another, how did we end up as neighbors?”
Shrugging, I add, “I looked for a place closer to them, but when the house next to yours came on the market, it was the perfect fit. It’s still relatively close to everyone, and it was in decent shape but needed enough upgrades that it gave me a project to work on now that I’m retired.” That word still tastes weird on my tongue. Sure, I still work for Riggs on occasion, but I’m retired as far as the world is concerned.
Faye’s eyes narrow, and her head cocks to the side, “Retired…” Drags from her lips. “Have you actually retired, though?”
Shit. She always did see the bigger picture in things. And she’s worked with the DOD. Surely, she has some idea about retired military and private security firms. “I’m no longer on Uncle Sam’s payroll. I’ve already told you that,” I pointedly remind her.
Her perfectly sculpted brow remains high. “If that’s the story you’re stickin’ to, I’ll let you have it, but if I was a betting woman…”
The waiter chooses this moment to appear with our food. After setting our plates down, he asks, “Can you think of anything else you need?”
Faye glances at me, then shakes her head.
“We’re good, thanks,” I assure him.
My stomach chooses this opportunity to remind me how ravenous I am, and Faye’s face lights up in amusement.
Picking up her fork, she points it at me with a conspiratorial grin. “Eat, Lancaster. We’ve got plenty of time to catch up when you’re full. Besides, I’ve been much too on edge these past few days to eat…. And I want to be firing on all cylinders if I’m going to decipher the double talk you’re giving me.”
Damn, she’s good.
I fight like hell to keep the smile tugging at my lips at bay.
With a curt nod, “Roger that,” slips out before I can think better of it.
As much as I’m dying to know everything Mark’s been up to, the live band jumps up on stage and starts playing. It’s a group I’ve never heard of, but they’re pretty good. They’ve got an alternative rock feel, though they’re playing current cover songs that could be considered pop, as well.
The moment I hear the melodic opening chords of The Red Hot Chili Peppers’ song “Under the Bridge,” I gasp and reach for Mark’s forearm to get his attention. “Ohmigosh! Do you remember that road trip we took to Seattle to see the Peppers in concert?”
He raises a brow, and a slow, sexy smile spreads across his lips. “Of course, I remember.” Leaning toward me, he runs a palm along his stubbled jaw and gives a knowing smirk. “The concert was great, but I remember that trip for another reason.”
Of course, he does.
It was the first time we stayed together in a hotel room, unbeknownst to our parents. Technically, our friends did go to the concert with us, but they also stayed with Jimmy Sullivan’s aunt afterwards, while we went our own way.
Feigning innocence, I ask, “Would I have anything to do with that?”
This earns me an eye roll. “You know damn well you had everything to do with what I’m referring to.” Shaking his head, he smiles. “I still can’t believe Mom bought that story. It was flimsy as hell and questionable at best.”
“We were such goodie two-shoes back then. We rarely did anything worth getting into trouble for.”
“That our parents know of,” he pointedly reminds me, and I’m surprised that, after all these years, heat flows through me at the memories.
My parents would’ve killed us both, should they have ever learned about everything we did that night. Nothing about us that night resembled being the goodie two-shoes everyone thought us to be.
“No shit. What our parents don’t know will never hurt them.”
His deep guffaw makes my spine tingle, much like it did when we were young teens in love.
