“Bron!” I hissed.
She leaned over and whispered to Erin, “Spoiler alert: Cal has a calendar marked with a love heart in his office with the date you can file for divorce.”
“Fucking hell,” I snapped.
Erin faked a gasp and swatted my arm. Channeling her best Matilda, she said, “That’s a no-no word!” before peeling into a laugh.
“Sorry,” I grumbled. “But Ez… would youreallywant this job? Not just because Bron talked you into it… or because you feel like you owe us… or out of guilt. You’dreallywant to check on listings and organize cleaners and walk down with me to drop off sheets and towels and get up early to pack breakfast baskets?”
Erin nodded. “Ireallywould.”
“What about your career and—”
Her lips landed on mine. She wanted me to shut up. Kisses were a way of showing how she felt if she couldn’t say the words—or if I wasn’t listening. That was her way of giving me adefiniteyes.
No one driving pastthe farm could have missed the jumping castle. Pink turrets and faux purple-brick walls dominated the hillside winding up to the house. My father had gone completely overboard for Matilda’s third birthday party.
After tugging on one of the ropes to make sure it was still safely anchored to the ground, he stood back and rubbed a weathered hand over his chin. “It’s a bit bigger than I thought it’d be,” he said. “The kids don’t seem to mind, though.”
No, there were definitely no complaints from the thirty kids racing around on the grass. Laughter weaved in between the music flooding the valley. Everyone was having a great time.
Matilda was in her element. She had fun shaking everyone’s hand as they arrived at her party, and she twirled around to show off her new princess dress and plastic tiara. Erin had tried to convince her to wear her sandals, but Matilda stuck her nose in the air.
“Matilda wear pink boots,” the birthday girl had sniffed indignantly.
Now, she sat on a little wooden box in the petting zoo that had been set up, a grimace on her face and a squealing piglet in her lap.
“Matilda gentle,” she told me.
I crouched in front of her. “Do you like holding the little piggie?”
“He wiggly.”
“A bit like you, huh?” I tickled her belly, and she giggled.
If Matilda were a princess, Erin would be an angel. My girl. She stood at the center of a group of mums from dance class, the afternoon sun a halo around the waves curled into her hair, the hem of her shimmery pink dress twisting in the wind. Her eyes caught mine. A big smile followed.
I flattened my palm over my heart. It didn’t matter how many times I looked at Erin. My breath always stuck in my lungs, and a familiar rush of heat prickled up my neck. I peeled my hand off my thumping heart and waved to her. But I didn’t head over. I weaved through the crowd and headed in the opposite direction. A car had just pulled up at the bottom of the hill—the last person to arrive—and I had something to say to him.
I passed Mim and Bronte on my way down. They were still arguing at the food tables. They only stopped bickering long enough to pour a drink or to pass out plates for people wanting to help themselves to the mountain of barbecue. A pile of presents covered the little table off to the side. Matilda would be opening gifts for hours. The biggest one so far—a new camper for her growing critter collection—was from me.
A bigger one was coming.
Jeremy was heading toward me. Purple spotted paper and a white ribbon covered the present tucked under his arm. I cocked my head. Something was off about him. His steps were slower.He was dressed fancy, sure, but his arrogant swagger was more of a shuffle. Heavy purple circles bruised under his eyes.
As he got closer, I said, “Big night last night?”
His lip curled into a sneer. “That’s none of your fucking business,Cal.”
Frowning, I closed the distance between us. His spine stiffened. No real strength to back up his words, huh? “Watch your mouth,” I said. “You should be thanking the Lord above you were invited at all.”
“It’smydaughter’s birthday.”
“And don’t you forget it. If you carry on like a prick, I’ll be waiting for you when you leave. I know more than a few places on this farm where Erin won’t see me giving you a good talking to if you even think about ruining Matilda’s party.”
“Grow a backbone, did you?” Jeremy tugged the lapel of his sports coat into line. “Bravo.” He stalked past me up the hill.
Matilda was too busy patiently sitting for the face painter to transform her into a pirate princess to notice her father slithering in Erin’s direction.
