I flip the page of my menu. “I don’t know what those are, but they sound amazing.”
“It’s essentially carrot cake but in donut form—fried with a cream cheese glaze,” Saylor explains. “They always offer some kind of seasonal donut holes.”
“Wait until you try the apple fritter ones in the fall,” Abby moans, her eyes glazing over.
“Do you even eat anything that’s not organic? When was the last time you had something fried?” Greer jokes.
I roll my eyes, playfully poking my tongue out at her. “I had something fried this week. Thank you very much.” And it felt damn good to eat those mozzarella sticks without the look of judgement, or having someone else change your order for you.
The girls laugh and my soul comes alive.
Our waiter appears with flutes of mimosas and glasses for the iced lattes. Smiling and thanking him, I reach for my flute and take a hefty sip, savoring the tangy orange juice and bubbles as the liquid hits my tongue.
“So…” I lean forward, resting my elbow on the table, chin in hand as I eye the girls. “What’s new with all of you?”
Silence falls over the table as everyone glances around. “Okaaay…don’t everyone jump at once.”
“Don’t look at me.” Abby throws up her hand. “Nothing’s new with me. All I do is tend to the animals and change diapers.”
“Oh, stop, you’re supermom,” Greer praises, and Abby tries to brush her off. “I mean it, Abbs. You’re raising two beautiful daughters, running a boutique, a coach’s wife who's always feeding the team, and you take care of your farm.”
I offer Abby a warm smile, squeezing her hand. “Sounds like supermom to me.”
She offers me a watery smile as her eyes glisten. In the midst of motherhood, I can only imagine how it feels to hear positive affirmations.
“So…” Abby’s voice trails off as she looks at me across the table, eyebrows waggling. “I heard you and a certain someone were getting handsy on the dance floor at Sunset Shores.”
Reaching for my flute, I inhale the golden liquid, refusing to be the topic of conversation.
Greer cackles at my lack of an admission. “So what’s it like being back in Jett Riggsby’s proximity?”
“Like I want to hump his leg,” I blurt, forgetting about my filter and blaming liquid courage, but it’s the cold, honest truth.
“Ew, gross.” Saylor covers her ears.
I wince. “Sorry, Say.”
She shrugs as Greer shakes her head. “Should we make a wager on how quick it happens?”
“There’s no way I’m taking that bet. We might’ve been a year younger in school, but I’ve heard all about the steamy Jett and Wren.”
Heat flames my cheeks. “I mean, the chemistry is still there. It’s obvious we both still have this pull toward each other, but I’m not crossing that line. I can’t…not again.”
“I don’t know what happened between you two last time. I was too young to understand everything,” Saylor starts, turning her attention toward me. “And I know I’m biased because I’m his sister, but he’s not the same guy he once was.”
I nod, my smile tight. “I appreciate that. I really do, but I’m afraid those wounds are too deep.”
“The first cut is the deepest, or whatever Sheryl Crow said,” Abby says.
I lift my flute. “I’ll cheers to that.”
“How’s the new house coming, Say?” Greer shifts the conversation, and Saylor sits higher in her chair, her energy completely shifting.
Her eyes widen as she leans forward, gripping the table. “Demo started this week,” she squeals.
“Ooh, on what?” I ask.
“The primary bathroom. Honestly, it was fine, but it wasn’t me.”
