“Hey. You alright? You never did say what happened the other night.”
Ah, fuck it. If there was anyone on the planet less judgmental than Beck, I didn’t know them. “Her ex texted at lunch one day, saying he was sorry and all that.” We continued to talk as Beck parked and the two of us walked inside. “Delaney said she should have blocked him but hadn’t. And would. The other night, he texted again as we were… ah, finishing dinner.”
“What did he say?”
“The usual bullshit. I’m sorry and all that.”
“So she never blocked him?”
We headed inside. There were lights on at the inn, but the house portion was dark. Mason and Pia must have been out. Hanging up our coats and tossing our bags to the side, we headed, as usual, to the kitchen.
“Beer?”
“I have time for one,” Beck said, sitting at the island.
Grabbing us each a bottle, I pulled off the caps and sat across from him.
“No. She never blocked him.”
“Why?”
“Said it wasn’t in her nature. Honestly, I left and never heard her out, so we didn’t talk about it until the next day.”
“That doesn’t sound like you.” I was about to agree, when Beck said, “Actually, come to think of it, you do that with your dad a lot.”
“Yeah because arguing with him is pointless. I’ve never met a man so impervious to advice. From anyone. He’s as thickheaded as they come.”
“Mine would give him a run for his money in that department.” Beck shook his head. “I dunno. Who am I to say anything when it comes to women?”
I didn’t answer.
Beck waited.
“I assumed that was a rhetorical question.”
Swinging down the rest of his beer—Beck was a record-holder among the four of us for quick drinking—he stood up. “It was, I guess. Talk to Mason. Or even Pia. They might be able to help.”
“Thanks.” I laughed. That was useful.
“I do like her, though. Delaney.”
Beck tossed his empty bottle into the recycling bin, slapped my shoulder and said, “Come down to the bar later.”
“I might.”
I do like her, though.
I liked her too. But apparently she didn’t feel the same. I looked at my phone. Still nothing. I tapped a button on my phone and a familiar voice came through. I put her on speaker.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
“Hey, Mom.”
“What’s wrong?”
I smiled. That was so like her. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“Calling on a Friday night? Something’s wrong,” she countered.
