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I’m desperate. Desperate to feel normal again. To feel like everything’s going to be okay.
The one person who always makes me feel that way?
Bel.
Her body heaves as she sobs into my chest. I tighten my arms around her, feeling all kinds of anguish at seeing my girl so upset, and turn my head to murmur in her hair.
“Hey. You’re here. Thank fuck you’re here.”
She scoffs. “Thank fuck I have rich friends who invite me to their five-star resorts.”
“Aw, sweetheart, I’ve been begging you to use me for my money for years. I’m glad you finally took me up on my offer.”
“For the love of God, don’t tell me you bought me another—”
“The Mercedes was a one-time thing.”
“Promise?”
“Promise. I did, however, take the liberty of stocking the wine cellar here at the cottage with some good stuff.”
“Good stuff,” Samuel says with a shake of his head as he passes by, hands full of luggage. “It’s better’n good, Annabel. It’s the best we got. And that’s saying something.”
Annabel pulls back to spear me with a look. “Really?” she deadpans.
I try my best to ignore the fact that her hands are still on my shoulders. Just like I’ve been trying not to think about the fact she and I are both single at the same time for the first time…well, ever.
I shove the thought from my head because it doesn’t matter. I missed my chance with Bel.
She has her own little family now. And I know how fragile family can be.
“Where’s Miss Maisie?” I ask, stepping back a little so her hands fall. Her thick, wavy blond hair is longer than usual—over the past few years, she’s kept it short—and she tucks it behind her ear.
She’s crying. She’s flushed.
Good Lord, is she beautiful. She’s got these gorgeous green eyes with long, pale eyelashes, and even longer legs that are hard not to stare at in those fucking skinny jeans she’s wearing.
The only sign of the banker in her is her cashmere sweater. Other than that, she’s in white sneakers and a Barbour jacket. No jewelry, no makeup. A little preppy, a lot pretty.
And that dimple in her left cheek that shows up when she shoots me a smile—
“Don’t be a wierdo and imprint on her, all right?” Annabel says, taking the car seat from Hank and setting it on the bench beside the door. Maisie’s eyes, the same shade as her mama’s, peek out from a cocoon of blankets.
“Please.” I unbuckle the car seat straps and tickle her tummy. She giggles, and I grin. She’s got Bel’s dimple. “Everyone knows only shirtless, shape-shifting werewolves imprint on babies, Annabel.”
“Who made you the Twilight expert, Beau?”
“You did, when you made me read all seven books during our Tropical Storm Michael Word Porn meeting.” I lift Maisie above my head and give her a smile. “Your mommy went through a strange phase in her early thirties where she crushed on teenage supernatural creatures, didn’t she? It was terrible for Uncle Beau.”
“There were only four books.”
“That’s all? Welp. Sure felt like seven.”
Annabel gives me a gentle shove with her elbow. Then she leans her head on my shoulder, and the two of us look at the baby. Annabel sighs.
She sounds tired. I hate it.
“House is yours,” I say, “for as long as you want to stay. You’re gonna tell me it’s too much—”
“Because it is.”
“And I’m gonna say I want you to get whatever it is you need up here, and a lot of it. Sleep, food, a break from the baby with a good book—there’s no better place for it.”
Annabel sighs again. “Thank you. Sincerely. I’m not even sure what the hell I need anymore, but I’m gonna try to figure it out.”
Her mom steps onto the porch, sliding her sunglasses into her hair. Taking in the three of us together, she smiles.
I don’t miss her meaning. Lots of people—Lizzie included—have wondered aloud why Annabel and I never ended up together.
Because.
It’s a shit answer. But there are a million reasons we’ve remained good friends, and only that.
“Mrs. Rhodes!” I cradle the baby in one arm and loop the other around Annabel’s mama. “Thank you for coming to Blue Mountain and for helping Annabel. You look better than ever, if you don’t mind me sayin’.”
She smiles—it’s Annabel’s smile, and now Maisie’s, too.
“You know you can call me Lizzie. And you look good too, Beau. Your farm is beautiful.”
“So is your grandbaby.”
“She’s such a doll, isn’t she?” Lizzie holds out her hands, and I pass her the baby. “I’ll take her so you two can catch up.”
I bend down to pick up my clipboard, my knees cracking. I glance at the note I have scrawled across the yellow legal pad. 1 PM. Good. I remembered the right time. The therapist was onto something; writing shit down is helping.
“I’ve actually gotta run to a meeting with my marketing team,” I say. “But we’re hosting a bonfire tonight down by the lake at sundown. Hank will be playin’ guitar, and Samuel is serving up whiskey-spiked cider. Y’all are invited if you’d like to join. My mama’s offered to babysit, if you’re okay with that. Lizzie, she’s so jealous you’re a grandma. She’s been waiting quite a spell for one of us to give her grandbabies. When I told her y’all were coming, the first thing she said was she wanted to meet Miss Maisie.”
