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“They should be choosing you over their friends. You’re family.”
“I wish it were that easy.” According to Joe, Isabelle and Sara have been best friends since they were five. They’re the female version of my brother and Bill. Forcing them to make that choice doesn’t feel right, as much as I would love to wield that power.
And Bill’s never going to bow out on my behalf. That would require integrity and empathy. The fact that he cheated on me in the first place—and the way he did it—proves he has neither. “Besides, they’re keeping the party small, only three on each side, and the bastard and the thief are the only friends. The rest is family.” Skewed toward Sara’s side. The only people Joe cares to have standing alongside them are his best friend and his little sister.
I could hear the struggle in his voice when he was laying it all out on the table: how Bill may be Joe’s best friend, but he’s always been terrible at relationships; reminding me—again—how Joe never approved of us hooking up in the first place; and how he warned me not to get back together with Bill after he split with Debra, but I didn’t listen.
How, as much as I might not want to hear it, Bill and Isabelle fit. Like, marriage and babies fit.
I’ve never wanted babies. Never felt the urge. Bill always said that was fine, that he had Rae, so he was satisfied. And now he’s talking about marriage and babies with another woman?
No, I did not want to hear that.
“These types of situations aren’t my specialty.” Ned adjusts his reading glasses to refocus on his puzzle. “Whenever someone upset Trudy, she’d put on a nice dress, hold her chin up and smile, and pretend they didn’t exist. Said she always felt better.” He chuckles. “She wore a lot of nice dresses over the years around me. Boy, that woman sure had a temper.”
Hearing Ned speak about his late wife always stirs conflicting emotions of warmth and sadness. They were married for over fifty years. What’s it like for him to go home to an empty house every night? I think it’s why he spends so much time here.
“So you’re saying I should bring the hottest date I can find to the wedding, and I damn well need to look better than the maid of honor.”
“Yeah, something like that,” Ned says absently, frowning at the front window.
I follow his gaze. Sun shines down over the pickup parked on the street. “Who’s that?” A work truck, based on the scaffolding and tools filling its bed and the two men in soiled clothes and construction boots stomping along the sidewalk, their arms laden with rollers and paint cans.
“I don’t know, but they should be parking in the back if they’re doing work in the building. They’re blocking spots for customers.”
“Why would they work on anything in there? They’re bulldozing it.”
“Who knows? Can’t take down the building until Todd’s moved to his new location, and that’s not until April. That was part of the deal.”
What deal? “Did Todd tell you that?”
“Yeah. He swung by on Saturday to chat for a bit. Brought me a steak.”
“While I was in Boston.” Coward.
“Anyway, who knows what that developer’s got planned for that space. Yvonne cleaned the last of her things out yesterday.”
I wander closer to the window to get a better look. Garrett is there, talking to his uncle, a stack of paper tucked under his arm, a coffee gripped in his hand.
Despite my loathing for the man, a spark stirs at the sight of him—the broad collar of his wool coat lined up against his jawline, his hair swept off his forehead in a wave. A dimple creeps into his smile. “Why must the prettiest ones be the biggest assholes?”
“Sorry, didn’t catch that?” Ned reaches up to adjust his hearing aid.
“Nothing. I’m going to see what’s what.” The door dings with my exit.
Melting snow and ice drips in a steady stream from the eaves, thanks to an early February thaw. I step around the puddles in the pavement as I stroll next door.
“… meeting with them at one to go over the drawings—” Garrett cuts off abruptly when his brown eyes land on me. “Hello, Justine.” The simple greeting drips with caution.
I force a wide smile—the kind I imagine Ned’s Trudy would plaster on when facing her enemies. Except I’m not in a fancy dress, and I can’t pretend Garrett doesn’t exist. I’m very, very aware of him. “So good to see you again, neighbor.” I shift my focus to Richard Harrington. “Uncle Richard, glad to see you still looking fit and mobile.”
His responding laugh is soft and melodic and seems genuine. “You should be wearing a coat, young lady. It’s not spring yet.”
“Ah.” I wave off his protests, casting a wink. “I’m cold-blooded, as I’m sure your nephew has told you.”
