Page 31 of The Wedding Favor

I’d forced myself to smile. “I think I’m going to walk home.”

“Don’t do that,” he said quickly, sounding almost panicked. “I’ll drive you back.”

“No, it’s a nice day.” It was, in fact, not a nice day. The dark clouds looming over us signified a good ole Texas rainstorm was about to split the sky. I’d socked him lightly on the shoulder… like a friend. “Um, good luck with the proposal. Text me and let me know how it goes.”

Without waiting for a reply, I forced myself to walk calmly to the parking lot, past his car, and down the gravel road to the street. The rain started ten minutes later while I was waiting for Mae to pick me up. I climbed into her car, soaking wet but at least the rain had hidden my tears. Mae had patted my leg but must have sensed I was on the verge of breaking. She didn’t ask me once what was wrong and I didn’t volunteer.

Two days later, a dozen pink roses showed up with a note that read “I’m sorry.” And dummy me had forgiven him for messing with my feelings. But I hadn’t forgotten.

Somehow, I doubted Missy knew that story.

“Talk about the weather, anything,” Aidan said, bringing me back to the present. “I don’t care. I just need to hear your voice. I miss you.”

Despite the feeling in the pit of my stomach telling me to hang up, I started talking. I didn’t stop until I heard his deep, even breaths of sleep.

ELEVEN

“Seeing New York City for the first time, I knew right away I was meant to be here.”

—excerpt from the unpublished memoir,

Darling, I Must Say by Gloria Hayes

On Tuesday after work, I drove over to the house on Second Street that Abe was renting. The little yellow two-story had a wide porch, and each window was bracketed by shutters. A literal white picket fence surrounded the postage stamp sized front yard where a tall sycamore tree provided shade. There was even a tire swing hanging from one of its branches.

I parked my car at the curb and climbed out. Pausing, I stared at the place, fighting a strange feeling of sadness. This was the sort of house I’d always wanted to live in when I was a kid. Not that I didn’t appreciate Grammie’s trailer. It kept us dry and provided a soft place to land. But this house? It was the perfect place to raise a family in Two Harts.

“Iris!” The screen door slammed against the side of the house and Hallie raced down the steps in a flurry of hair and purple. This girl clearly had a signature color. “You’re here.”

“Hey,” I said. “Where’s your dad?”

It had been decided that I would start sitting for Hallie on Wednesday, so Abe had invited me over today to go over the schedule, show me around the house, get the routine down, general expectations.

“Come on.” Hallie grabbed my hand and pulled me down the long driveway that curved behind the house where there was a two-car garage and a separate workshop. “Dad, Iris is here.”

Abe was fiddling around under the hood of an older model Land Cruiser that had been painted a dark, shiny blue with chevron stripes of orange, red, and yellow. Although simple, the design managed to portray a sense of movement. It gave the truck a retro feeling which fit Abe somehow. Old school, but in a good way. Even I, who knew nothing about cars or painting them, could tell this paint job was done spectacularly well.

I sauntered up and leaned an elbow on the edge of the truck, close to Abe’s head. “Nice car. I like the pretty colors.”

Abe straightened and wiped his dirty hands on an equally dirty rag. The sun glinted off the small, silver hoop in his eyebrow. I noticed he had a scattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. Such a contradiction, this guy. “Pretty? Those are wicked colors for a wicked truck.”

I smirked. “Got it. Don’t call Abe’s car pretty.”

His eyes met mine, crinkling in amusement. It was nice that we were close to the same height. I didn’t have to crank my neck to look up like I did with Aidan. But it also made me feel like we were on even ground.

“She is kind of pretty.” He gave the truck an affectionate pat.

“She?”

“Cars are always women. Didn’t you know that?” He crossed his arms. His white tank top showed off the tattoos. So many of them—like a museum of swirls and colors. It was hard not to step closer and take time to inspect them. Ask about them. Maybe touch them.

Which was weird. I’d never been into tattoos…

With effort, I pulled my eyes back to his face, hoping he hadn’t realized what had caught my attention. “That seems sexist.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Cars are one of my favorite things in this world. And I like it when they’re a little tricky to figure out. Like a puzzle.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “But when you get everything to work just right and you take care of her, she’ll never do you wrong.”

“Sir, are you flirting with me?”