Page 22 of Saltwater Cowboy

She loves me so much that she quit her job after I was fired. Total badass move, if you ask me.

The disdain I had for those fancy events was next level, but Thad enjoyed them, and I wanted him to be happy. Besides, I still got delicious food and cocktails out of it, so who was I to complain?

It was fine when it was balanced—when most of our nights were spent curled up on the couch, ordering takeout, relaxing. When he was actually home.

Now, I wasn’t sure if any of it had been real. Everything felt like a nightmare.

The four of us sat around the dinner table in awkward silence, pasta twirling lazily on forks, glances bouncing between Blythe and Charlie like a secret game of ping-pong.

I kept my eyes on my plate, pushing spaghetti from one side to the other.

Charlie exhaled sharply. “Am I allowed to ask questions here, or am I just supposed to stay in the dark?”

“Thad isn’t coming.” My voice was flat. I refused to look up.

“No shit. What did that douchebag do?”

“Charlie!” Blythe and I snapped in unison.

“What? He was.” Charlie lifted a shoulder, unapologetic.

“Be nice,” Blythe scolded.

Charlie turned to me. “Sorry, Rose. I didn’t mean it.”

A small smile tugged at my lips. “You totally did.”

“I did, but the right thing to say here is that I didn’t.”

Marriage had domesticated him. The once grumpy, broody man I met years ago had softened around the edges, like a well-worn leather jacket.

His expression shifted to something earnest. “Stay as long as you need to get back on your feet.”

“I appreciate it.” I hesitated. “Almost decked a guy on the plane today.”

Three sets of eyebrows shot up—even Wren’s.

“You what?” Blythe asked, keeping her tone carefully neutral.

I leaned forward. “I had the aisle seat, and Thad was supposed to be in the middle. Obviously, that didn’t happen, so the seat was empty. Right before takeoff, the flight attendant asked if this behemoth could sit there. I said no, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“So he sat next to you?” Charlie asked.

“Oh, he sat next to me. Chatted the whole flight. Had the fakest southern accent I’ve ever heard. And, get this—he likes orange Skittles.”

Blythe gasped. “Not the orange Skittles!”

“Yep. And when we hit turbulence, I started crying. I was convinced I was going to die, and he offered to let me hold his hand.”

Charlie set his fork down. “Rose, you know the odds of a plane crash are one in eleven million, right?”

I narrowed my eyes. “First of all, how did you know that? Second of all, what if I was the one?”

“I read; despite what you two think.” He motioned between Blythe and me.

Blythe tapped her fingers against the table. “Sweetie, it sounds like he was just being nice. Did he hit on you?”

I shook my head. “No.”