“You’re a good friend,” Gemma says.
“Careful,” I warn. “If you make me cry, I’m taking the shoes back.”
“Too late.” She steps back with a smirk. “Me and the shoes are already gone.”
“Text me if you need to borrow earrings,” I call after her. “But don’t get any ideas about my handbag collection.”
She blows me a kiss as she disappears out the door.
And then, the foyer is quiet again.
Beau is leaning in the archway that leads back toward our bedroom. “Your work dress is going on a job interview?”
I can hear what he’s not saying. The dress I once wore for forty-eight hours straight while accompanying my boss to conferences on both coasts is going on an interview. This time without me.
“Do you miss it?” Beau asks, searching my face.
I don’t miss the stress migraines or eating dinner at my desk. But I ran on the high of being indispensable. Sometimes I still miss the rush of what that was.
Maybe that’s how I ended up out past midnight with a tween, throwing Charmin on Carol’s fence.
“I wouldn’t trade our lives here for anything,” I say.
Beau tilts his head. “What about your Carol Parker vendetta? Would you trade that?”
“Hey, the TPing story stays between us,” I say with a smile and a wagging finger.
“Sure. My lips are sealed.” Beau follows me back toward the closet. “I did everything I could to civilize you,” he teases. “But you really are unreformable, aren’t you?”
“Oh, I’m beyond help,” I agree, matching his flirtatious tone. “But only one of us could be the rich, hot, smart one, and I drew the short straw.”
Beau steps closer, and his attention carries a charge that’s subtle but unmistakable. His eyes flick over me with a mix of amusement and curiosity, like after all these years, there’s still something about me that keeps him guessing. The slow, familiar pull between us makes my core go a little liquid.
Beau Walker, I’d choose you again in a heartbeat.
“Despite my best efforts, you’re a chaos magnet.” He smirks.
“I prefer to think of myself as chaotic good.”
“Chaotic good, huh? Dungeons and Dragons? Now, we’re really flirting.” He kisses me slowly, but when he breaks the kiss, his voice softens. “You’re taking Polly out to roll a house, and lending out your lucky dress. You okay? You want to tell me where it hurts?”
It’s like he has a Doppler radar for when I’m avoiding something.
Like the twinge of grief I’ve been nursing since I had my lucky dress dry-cleaned for Gemma.
“I’m okay. I don’t need to talk about it,” I say, smiling through the faint ache in my chest. “I TPed Carol’s house about it.”
“Well, when you’re ready—or the list of misdemeanors wears thin…” He searches my face, adoration warming his eyes. “You know where to find me.”
“I’m sure talking about it is what a normal person would do.”
“Normal’s overrated.” His hands find my hips, and suddenly, I forget whatever it is I’m supposed to be getting ready for.
“Even when there’s grass on the floor?”
“Especially then.”
Beau pulls me into a long, slow kiss before leaning back and saying, “I hate to ask, but is there any chance Carol is going to start a brawl in the middle of tonight’s party?”
