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Carter’s jaw dropped. “Dunn makes you sleep under his dining table?”
I blinked. “Carter, I think you might be a li’l bit drunk.”
“After this day?” He nodded. “It’s entirely possible that I’m drunk off fumes.”
“Bern’dette. The pig. Sleeps under the dining table. Obviously.”
Carter hesitated. “I just want to be sure I’m getting this finally. Bernadette—who is definitely a pig—sleeps under Dunn’s dining room table. Inside the house.”
I nodded. “Bern’dette was a runt, you know? Dunn had to keep her really warm and bottle-feed her every few hours for seven weeks ’cause her mama wouldn’t.” I held up seven fingers in demonstration. “An’ he heard that talking to piglets helps ’em thrive, so he took to watching sitcom reruns with her, as you do, all night, every night, and singing songs with her. She still squeals when she hears the theme song to Golden Girls. Then he’d wake up and do all his regular farm chores with just Lu for help during the day. But he didn’t complain, ’cause that’s just what Dunn does.”
Carter nodded and pushed my water glass in front of me. I drank without thinking.
“You know,” I whispered. “When I was a kid, I wanted to be a doctor ’cause I thought it was the coolest thing ever to fix people, but what Dunn does… it’s even better.” I lifted my eyes to Carter’s. “He takes care of living things. He nurtures them. He keeps them safe and lets them grow. I respect him so much for that.”
“Wow.” Carter blinked, then blinked some more. “Shit. Okay, he really is the best man. I wish someone would say something that profound about me. Ever.” He huffed out a laugh. “Have you told him that?”
I shook my head. “I never, never did. At first, it seemed too sappy, you know? Not the sort of shit one friend tells another friend while fishing. And then, now that we’re not just friends… it never occurred to me it was something he needed to hear.” I blinked. “I think maybe that’s the problem, Carter. Me and Dunn are just too close friends.”
“Oh, good Lord,” Carter said softly, rolling his eyes. His fingers punched his phone keys faster.
“No, no! Hear me out! Iss like… there are all these things we think we know about each other, right? ’Cause we’ve known each other so long and so well? But everything’s changed now. And we can’t go around making ass… ass…”
“Assumptions?”
“Assussshuns,” I agreed. “I shoulda told him days ago that I was scared. But I dint. I got all the wis… the wis…” I frowned. “The branches to make a wreath, and I… I… I… entwined them in a knot that was all symbolical. And I was gonna give it to him tonight in a big perfect speech and explain the symbolicalness, and then our fight was gonna be over and Dunn would love me again. I got all these Band-Aids for nothing.” I held up my bandaged fingers sadly. “I shouldna waited for perfection, ’cause that’s silly. I shoulda just said the things. Because if you can’t be all the way honest with the person you love, Carter, then what even good is the love?” I banged the table gently. “What. Even. Good. Is. The. Love?”
“Uh-huh. Uh-huh! There’s that crossword-solving vocabulary I’ve come to expect!” Carter encouraged.
“I do love him!” I insisted… possibly loudly, given the number of people who turned toward me. “I love Dunn Johnson. And I will never leave him and go to Nashville because I don’t want a life that he’s not in. And I want him with me no matter what, even if he’s right now eating tater tots with Jenn at the Italian place.”
I frowned. Did they serve tots at the Italian place?
No matter. I would forgive him his betrayal.
Then I would tie him to my bed and make him eat tater tots with me until the end of time.
“I will fight for him, Carter. An’ I will care for him. An’ I will nurture him too. An’ I will not give up, even if he is a fool.” I belched delicately. “Or even if we both are.”
Carter glanced up from his phone again. “Praise Jesus, we’ve had a breakthrough.” He lifted a hand to call Ethan over. “Ethan, buddy, can you get Doc Wright here a burger and the strongest coffee you can manage? We’ve got places to be in exactly… forty-six minutes.”
I narrowed my eyes, but I couldn’t quite get Carter to focus. “Whass happening in forty-six minutes? Are we goin’ to get Dunn? Who do you keep texting, anyway?”
“You’ll find out in forty-six minutes, buddy. And for the sake of my liver, let’s hope it sticks this time.”
Forty-three minutes later I was significantly more sober and exponentially more pissed off as Carter’s fancy-assed Porsche-a-rarri—whatever the heck you called it—hit every rut and bump on the road to Dunn’s fishing cabin, making my stomach slosh uncomfortably.
