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The edge of his jaw worked on a bite of food. “They are. But you know me, people aren’t really … my thing.”
“You don’t say,” I replied.
At my dry tone, he rolled his eyes.
“What about New York?” he asked her. “I’m sure you miss some stuff too.”
“The pizza.” She sighed. “All the food, really. It’s not that the restaurants here aren’t good, but sometimes you just want Chinese delivered at midnight, you know?”
With a quirked brow that said he’d never done such a thing, Ian sat back in his chair when he’d cleaned his second plate, then rubbed his flat belly.
“Careful, Harlow. You keep this up, and I’ll get used to dinners like this.”
“Don’t,” Sage and I responded at the same time. We looked at each other and started laughing.
She licked the tines of her fork, and then sat back like Ian had. “That was good, Momma.”
“Glad to hear it because we have a lot of leftovers. It’ll probably be dinner tomorrow, too.”
Ian and Sage cleaned up the kitchen, and from my seat on the couch, I watched over the edge of my book that I was pretending to read.
It was better having him around. In all my overthinking before we moved in, I’d only spent a small amount of time worrying about whether this would wreck our friendship. It was so easy with him. It always had been. And now, with the benefit of our years apart, it felt like we could manage the ease differently. Manage it in a healthy way that worked for both of us. So even if I could understand why he’d pulled away, the seed of fear got swept away so quickly for me.
The justification was buried in the comfort level we had around each other. My soul knew his, and in the occasional moments he’d glance over at me on the couch and smile, I could admit he knew mine too.
While she washed the dishes, he dried, and when he said something that made Sage laugh, my ribs squeezed at their easy camaraderie. When I was her age, all I wanted out of life was my freedom, to be something different from what my parents expected of me. Ian had been my only safe place in the world.
When they’d finished cleaning up the kitchen, Sage curled up next to me on the couch, and I wrapped my arm tight around her shoulders. Ian toed off his work boots and sank back on the couch, then stretched his long legs out with a groan. A white fluffy blanket was tucked under his arm, and I eyed it. He’d give it up if I asked, which is why I decided not to ask.
“Movie?” Sage asked hopefully.
“Is your homework done?”
She nodded. “And I already got a head start on my book report for next week.”
“Go ahead,” Ian said. “Your mom will be asleep in less than fifteen minutes if you start one.”
“I will not.”
Sage giggled, rearranging herself to see the screen better as she flipped through streaming options to find something.
Twenty minutes later, I fell asleep to Remember the Titans, and stayed that way as they both went to bed at the end of the movie. I woke up in the middle of the night, covered in the fluffy white blanket that had been under his arm.
“And how is the new living situation helping your writer’s block? You said he was your best friend growing up, right?”
It was very lucky that Bea, my author coach, could not see me. I was sitting on a blanket on an actual bale of hay in Ian’s barn, with my laptop next to me.
Zero words written.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true. I’d written 457, then deleted them with very purposeful strikes of the delete key before moving locations.
I’d tried the couch and the cute little desk in my bedroom. I’d tried the beautiful kitchen table and the rocking chair on the front porch. Even the coffee shop was beginning to feel a bit like a squatter’s situation because I was just sitting there with my one cup of coffee and hair laden with a bit too much dry shampoo and the white fuzzy blanket I’d brought from the house. When the baristas gave me wide-eyed looks, I decided a break was necessary.
I sighed. “It’s … not. I mean, I’m happier. Definitely less stressed.”
My parents were still quietly disapproving of the move to Ian’s. I could see it in their faces when I picked up Sage on the days they got her from school so I could work until dinner. And not just in their faces but in the complete lack of interest in how it was going living here.
“And you don’t think that’s helpful? To be less stressed?”
