Before I spiral, I pick up the phone and call him.
“Hey, baby, how did you sleep?” He asks with his silky swagger.
I jump right in. “I saw the additional money in my account this morning. How do you actually deposit it? My account is completely separate from any joint account we had. Did you get access to it?” I hate the accusation lacing my tone, but I can’t wrangle it in at the moment.
Sam pauses before answering, “I’m sorry, I should have told you. No, I have zero access to that account, never have, and I never will. But babe, come on, you know how I did it.”
I stop and think for a moment. “Oh my goodness … did you let yourself get objectified by Mrs. Reynolds to deposit money in my account?!”
Mrs. Reynolds is the local Cascadia bank teller, over seventy and reads smutty romance novels between customers. She hits on Sam every time he walks in, swearing he has been in one of her romance covers,The Builder and the Beauty. To be fair, I checked it out after sherecommended it, and it definitely could have been him moonlighting in the past.
“I, uh, may have let her squeeze my bicep if she let me deposit the funds to your account.”
I burst out laughing at the imagery of Sam leaning his bicep over the counter, turning beet red through the process.
“I think you made her entire year with that one!”
Sam chuckles. “Naw, next time Jared comes in wearing his glasses, she will forget all about me.”
I don’t quite believe him, but she does have a thing for Jared and his “nerdy-hot” vibe, as she puts it. Mack told me Mrs. Reynolds swears he was the star of theNerd in the Nudebook she read last year.
“Listen, I have to go, but have a great night with the girls. Buy the extra fancy cheese that smells horrible, but you love, even if it isn’t on sale.”
I smile, teary-eyed that he even recognized my spending pattern. “Thank you, I will.” We hang up, and I feel the guilt ease away as I head to the store for a night of pampering myself and my friends with no budget in mind.
“Mack told me elderflower is for healing,” I say, handing her a glass of elderflower spritz.
“I grew it,” I say, like it’s not a big deal, settling onto the rug with them. The living room smells like the face masks Mack brought and the scented candles already burning low on every surface.
Nessa pauses mid-sip. “Yougrewthis.”
“Yes.”
“In your yard?”
“Where else would I grow it, Nessa? The parking lot at Shop n’ Go?”
She squints at me like I might be lying, as talented asNessa is at many things, having a green thumb is not one of them.
“I just need to understand the level of effort I’m drinking,” she says, swirling the glass like it’s wine with good legs, when really it’s prosecco and simple syrup.
“It took forever,” I say, tucking my legs under me. “Like nothing is happening, nothing is happening, and then suddenly—boom.”
Phoenix glances up at that, quick, like it hit something, then looks back down at her glass.
Vanessa clinks hers into mine. “To delayed gratification.”
“To patience,” Mack adds, already smoothing something onto her cheek with the focus of a woman who takes skincare seriously.
“To me, not having patience,” Nessa says, taking another sip.
We all drink. It’s light, floral, and dangerous in the way that doesn’t feel like it until your second glass.
Nessa hesitates mid-sip, like she’s debating something. “So, this might be nothing,” she says, glancing between us. “But I was catering that Yarrow fundraiser event last week.”
Phoenix groans. “Those people again.”
“Yeah,” Nessa says. “And I swear I saw Rick there. Like … not as a guest. He was talking to them pretty seriously.”
