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“Just riding a crushing wave of anxiety and guilt. I’ll be fine. Dinner sounds great.”
Another grin. “You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Abel reaches up to scratch his head. “People will be able to corroborate our story this way. Right? That’s what we’re doing, isn’t it? Setting the scene?”
I force a laugh. “We’re creating our own alibi, yes.”
“A reverse alibi. Or something.” Our eyes meet and the queasy feeling in my middle eases a tiny bit.
God, he’s cute.
Cute, and smart. And he smells really good.
“I’m usually done with work by seven.” I sip my coffee and let out a moan. “Also, how did you get this so fucking right? You put in the perfect amount of sugar and?—”
“Half and half.” His expression tightens. “Easy. You like it sweet. So that’s how I made it. I’ll come grab you at seven thirty? Will you be here?”
I nod. “I might go work somewhere else for a bit, just to get out of the house. But I’ll be here at seven thirty.”
“Sounds good.”
The dogs are moving into the hallway now. I hear Cher’s little paws thumping on the stairs. I’m about to follow them when Abel shakes his head. “I’ll let the girls out. Filled uptheir bowls downstairs with food and water already, by the way. Hope that’s all right.”
I choke out a laugh. “You gotta stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Being such a great fake husband. You’re going to ruin me for the real one, whenever he decides to show up.”
His gaze flickers. Can’t tell if it’s a playful flicker or a sinister one. “Maybe that’s the plan.”
Then he turns and trundles down the stairs.
I work all morning, then I pick up lunch from a nearby deli and take it to my brother’s house. If Maren’s C-section goes to plan, this is my last chance to visit before the new baby comes.
Abel took his truck to work, so I borrowed his swanky new golf cart. Tuck lives on the marina in Harbour Village, which is about a ten-minute drive from Abel’s place in the middle of the island.
It’s a beautiful spring day. Warm, not too humid, a few clouds in an otherwise bright blue sky. But that seasick feeling returns with a vengeance when I pull into Tuck’s driveway. I glance at his golf cart and see that an infant car seat is already strapped into the middle row.
They’re all so excited. I am too.
I alsoreallydon’t want to be the one to burst my brother’s bubble with my news. Tuck’s had a rough go of it, and he deserves the happiness he’s found with Maren.
He deserves some measure of contentment and ease after his first wife left him high and dry with a six-week-old infant to raise on his own five years ago.
But Abel and I are about to blindside him, and I feel pretty fucking awful about it. The timing couldn’t be worse.
Then again, is there ever a good time for your dad to get cancer?
As much as I don’t want to stress out Tuck during an already stressful, not to mention sleep-deprived, time, maybe this works in our favor. Maybe Tuck will be too distracted and tired to lose his mind over me marrying his best friend.
Or maybe he’ll disown us both and never speak to us again.
Either way, I have a bunch of fried chicken sandwiches and some sweet potato french fries in the bag beside me that smell really good. If it’s going to be the last civil meal I have with my brother, might as well make the most of it.
Screwing my courage to the sticking place, I head inside. “Helloooo?”
