True. Somewhere along the way my dislike had turned to grudging respect then to…something I couldn’t identify. But one thing I did know. “He drives me crazy.”
All three of my friends grinned at me.
“Exactly.” Jocelyn smirked.
“You say that like it’s a good thing.”
“Oh, it’s a very good thing.” Molly attempted to waggle her eyebrows, but the movement made her face look as if she’d lost control of the muscles in her forehead.
Could my friends be right? Were Drew’s and my interactions some kind of twisted non-physical foreplay?
Without any conscious thought, my gaze sought Drew out. Even though there were dozens of people, I was able to find him in seconds, like a pigeon instinctively knowing the direction of home. His broad shoulders filled out the team shirt he wore, but the ball cap on his head barely contained the thick waves of his hair. Brown ends snuck below the rim. My fingers itched to run through the strands, and a thin thread of jealousy snaked its way across my abdomen at the thought that Camille knew what his hair felt like and I didn’t.
A female laugh shattered my perusal, widening my focus. How had I missed the trio of women creating a half circle around Drew? One of the women touched her neck, another reached out and touched Drew. He smiled at all of them, laughing at something one of them said.
My friends were wrong. Drew wasn’t interested in me. How could he be when he had perfect specimens of the female form literally hanging all over him?
A bitter taste filled my mouth. Greg had left me for someone of more socially acceptable proportions. It had stung, but I’d brushed that part of our divorce off as his problem, not mine.
God didn’t use a mold when He created men and women. Each of us were sculpted in His image, had love poured in and life granted. Every shape and size was a masterpiece of His creativity and boundless love. And because of that, I refused—or tried to anyway—to let myself feel smaller just because parts of me were bigger than some other women.
Even so, an ache settled against my breastbone. I threw my hand out to the foursome. “Drew wouldn’t know a thing about a real relationship. He’s too immature for something that takes true commitment.”
I winced at my own words. They were harsh in my ears, and I wanted to take them back. But like Molly said, once the toothpaste squeezed out of the tube, you couldn’t put it back in again.
Molly’s face fell, Jocelyn shook her head, and Betsy just stared at me with her indelible expression that made me squirm.
“For someone who says she’s open minded, you seem to have shut the door and passed judgement quickly in this case,” Jocelyn said quietly, although I felt it as a shout in my chest.
“He was engaged once.”
I turned to face Molly. Drew? Engaged?
“Ben told me.”
“And guys say they don’t gossip.” Betsy spoke out of the side of her mouth.
Molly ignored her. “About a year ago, his fiancée called off the wedding.”
Not my place. I shouldn’t ask. But my tongue had other plans and formed the word, “Why?”
Molly looked uncertain. “Maybe you should ask him.”
But the reason scratched at my brain and tore at my heart. Drew couldn’t have kids. For some women, that would be a deal breaker. Poor Drew. Was he still heartbroken after being jilted? I wanted to march across the large patch of grass and shoo those three women away. Take Drew in my arms and give him a big hug. There were other ways of being a father than procreation. Fostering. Adopting. Becoming a stepfather.
I blinked long and slow at the formulation of that thought, the fragments floating around like dust particles in streaming sunlight. Before the thought could settle, Jocelyn emitted a high-pitched squeal. She sprinted as fast as her wedged heels allowed, then launched herself into a man’s arms.
“Did we know Malachi was coming?” I asked.
Molly raised her hand in a waist-high shrug. “He called about half an hour ago when he found the house empty. He wanted to surprise Jocelyn.”
Malachi swung Jocelyn around before setting her back on firm ground and capturing her lips with his own.
“She seems to like surprises,” Betsy said dryly.
The couple made their way back toward us, hand in hand. Color creeped into the tips of Malachi’s ears as he met our knowing smirks.
He tipped his black cowboy hat at us. “Ladies.”
