When he got back from his trip into town, he had poked around the house and pilfered what he needed. Then, he headed to the driveway and proceeded to vacuum out my car, detail the interior, and give it a thorough wash.
After 1,500 miles on the road in the span of two days, it desperately needed it. I needed the reset, too.
“So, when’s the wedding?” Lisa teased as she swirled the lingering drops of coffee in the bottom of her mug. We had started with pleasantries—really just the two of us hugging and crying—then got the funeral updates out of the way. Lisa was more than happy to move on to what she wanted to know: what the hell I was doing with Ryan Ford.
I rolled my eyes. “You mean the grifter I picked up and did a cross-country road trip with after I stuck my foot in my mouth in front of three hundred people? Don’t hold your breath for a save-the-date.”
She snickered. “That’s some quality one-on-one time.”
“Don’t remind me,” I groaned as I peered out the window again. Ryan had lost his shirt as the midmorning heat beat down on him.
His chiseled chest and arms were glistening from the spray of the hose, making his sleeves of tattoos stand out in the sunshine.
Lisa sidled up to me at the window, clutching her mug. “You lucky bitch.”
She and I had an odd relationship. It was somewhere in the Venn diagram of a stepmother, a sister, and a friend. I loved her for it. Even when Lisa and Shep were just dating, she had carved out a place for me in her life because he had a place in my life.
I giggled. “Fine. So he’s not bad to look at.”
“Not bad?!” Lisa spun on me and held up four fingers. “Do you need to get your eyes checked? How many fingers am I holding up?”
I swatted her hand away. “I’m allowed to acknowledge that he’s pretty to look at and also dislike what comes out of his mouth sometimes.”
“I bet he could do some things with that mouth . . .”
“Lisa! You’re supposed to be mourning!”
“I’m coping with humor.” She hip-checked me back to my half of the window. “Now move. You’re blocking the view.” Her tone was full of levity and sarcasm, but I didn’t miss the way she twisted her engagement ring.
I couldn’t imagine her ever taking it off. I still remembered the day Shep sent me pictures of all the ring options he was considering when he was planning his proposal.
Her tone softened. “I can’t help but notice that Bev doesn’t have the other room finished, and both of your suitcases are in the main bedroom.”
“I couldn’t sleep last night,” I admitted. “My mom made me feel like shit for coming out here for the funeral, and I knowAmber’s just going to be the same way. I went out to the tree and tried to clear my head, but it didn’t work.”
“I know that feeling all too well,” she admitted as she spun her ring again.
“Ryan was sleeping on the couch. I told him to take the bed since I was tossing and turning. We ended up sleeping together.”
Lisa raised her eyebrows.
“Justsleeping,” I said.
“You trust him.” She said it as a statement, not a question.
“I guess. I mean, he’s sweet. He’s just not my type.”
“And whatisyour type?”
That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it?
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
Lisa turned away from the window and crossed her arms. “I’d say you’re looking at him.”
“Ryan isn’t my type.”
“Really? Because I’d say that man is head over heels for you. I can’t imagine anyone being willing to drive across the country for someone they just met.” Her smile was sad. “Well. Except Shep.”
