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“Home,” Jordan interrupted yet again.
He took a left turn and, a moment later, pulled over next to a pale-gray painted house. He turned to look at Avery.
“Shouldn’t we …?” Avery didn’t complete the question.
“You’re closer,” he said with a shrug. “We’re right here.”
Avery nodded slowly, narrowing her eyes and spearing his, her jaw muscle twitching. She then pivoted with a smile toward Hope. “See you at school tomorrow.”
“Yes. Thanks.” Hope had no idea what she was thanking her for, but it was the next best thing to apologizing for involuntarily intruding on what looked like a date between them.
Avery opened the door and climbed out without a word. As soon as she slammed it and turned around, Jordan pulled away.
“You should turn right over there,” she commented, pointing from her place in the back seat.
“I know. I grew up here.”
“Oh, right.” It was strange to think he had grown up here like Eric, like Libby, Roni, and Luke.
“What? I don’t look like a small-town native?” He smiled at her through the rearview mirror.
He didn’t, but she didn’t say it.
“Our old house is over there.” He gestured with his head toward Avalon Street, which they had just passed by.
“You think this is a small town? You should see the town I came from in Minnesota.” She chuckled.
“How small?” His golden-brown eyes flicked a smile through the mirror.
“Three hundred. If I stayed there, I probably would have married my second cousin.”
Jordan laughed.
Oh God, it had a husky edge, and combined with those Bradley Cooper dimples that she wanted to stick her fingers into, her insides clenched.
Roni’s words—Let him detonate you. He’s the type—rang in her head. Yes, he seemed the type. The type every fiber of her being told her she wasn’t cut out for, although all those fibers now rebelled against her and yearned to touch those broad shoulders of his that were a mere few inches away.
“So you married Eric Hayes, instead?”
Talk about a reality check. Of course he knew Eric. Everyone knew Douchebag Eric.
“I didn’t mean it to sound rude. I’m sorry,” he suddenly said, his eyes connecting with hers through the rearview mirror. “Trust me; I have no right to …” He trailed off.
This took her by surprise. Wasn’t he one of those who always knew what and when to say? A political advisor?
He had just reached her house, and before she was able to utter a word, as soon as the wheels of the car came to a stop, the front door was thrown open, as if her daughters had been waiting by the window the whole time.
Naomi ran outside, followed by Lucile, Eric’s mother, who stopped in the middle of the lane, watching her granddaughter welcoming a strange car that had brought her mother home.
“Thanks so much for the ride. I’d better …” she said, opening the door and getting out before Naomi could reach the car.
“Anytime,” she heard Jordan say.
As soon as she stepped onto the sidewalk, Naomi threw herself at her and wrapped her small arms around her, as if she hadn’t seen her in ages.
“She missed you,” Lucile called, tightening her salmon-colored cardigan, though the evening was still warm.
“Who’s that?” Naomi asked, pointing at the car.
