Page 34 of A Taste of Vanilla

“It’s not livable.”

“It’s livable,” Oliver says. “I lived there for three months when the pipe burst in my place.”

“You ate cereal out of a saucepan and used a stack of coasters as a nightstand.”

He spreads his arms out beside him. “And look at me now. It’s close, it’s ours. It’s not full of wedding magazines and whatever expensive emotional mold Grant has there.”

“My wedding dress is there,” I whisper.

Everyone goes quiet.

It’s the kind of quiet that happens when grief walks into the party and sits down without asking.

Marley’s hand finds mine, and her thumb brushes over where the ring used to be.

“You two are both being very emotionally competent and it’s becoming unsettling,” I mumble.

Marley squeezes my hand. “Don’t get too used to it. I’m still planning many crimes.”

“I’m not bailing anyone out,” Oliver says.

“You have emergency bail cash.”

“For plumbing.” He straightens and taps the roof of my car twice. “Start it.”

“What if it doesn’t start?”

“Then we’ll fix it.”

“Do you know how?”

“No.”

“Oliver.”

Marley reaches over and turns the key before I can spiral. My car sputters, coughs, and starts.

It still says I have a quarter tank of gas.

“See? She lives!” Marley cheers.

“She’s on thin ice,” Oliver mutters.

“My car is sensitive.”

“Your car stranded you during an emotional emergency.”

“She has bad timing.”

“She has a death wish.”

“She has a name.”

Oliver’s eyes narrow. “You named it?”

“Penelope.”

Marley closes her eyes. “I forgot about that.”