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Understanding dawned. Did she mean… “You’re married toLittle Dickie?” she asked, genuinely astonished.
She glanced over at Sullivan for confirmation. He nodded, shrugging, as if he didn’t get it either.
Little Dickie had been almost a foot shorter than her, with round, full cheeks, and a boyish look. He could have easily been mistaken for several years younger than them in middle school.
“Yes, I am,” Sloane said, sounding very proud of the fact. “Only that nickname was the farthest cry from the truthever, if you know what I mean.” She grinned at Edwina.
Oh, my. She was talking about…
“Damn, Sloane,” Sullivan protested. “Can you not talk about your husband’s junk for once?”
“Get your mind out of the gutter,” Sloane admonished with a sly smile. “I only meant that Rick is over six feet tall and two hundred and fifteen pounds of pure muscle. He’s not Little Dickie anymore, he’s a man. Just like Eddie is now Edwina. We’re adults, at least most of us are.”
Sullivan scoffed. He set Finn down, who wandered a few feet away to poke at a loose brick paver with the toe of his sneaker.
Sloane gave her a conspiratorial wink.
“You were talking about his junk,” Sullivan said.
Sloane ignored that. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart, Edwina and Mr. Hunt, for letting my brother and nephew stay with you for a few weeks. I really appreciate it. Rick’s little sister lives with us and we have the baby and two dogs and it’s just a lot of chaos over at our house.”
Her dad assured Sloane it was no problem.
Edwina felt her stomach knotting up. She had the hardest time standing up for herself. Ironic that her father thought her mother was the only one who steamrolled her. Most people did, including him.
“I really should ask Nigel…” she murmured and the sound of her own voice made her internally wince. The tone was completely lacking in confidence.
Like she wasn’t an adult who ran her own company.
Then again, the argument could be made that Nigel ran the company.
“Call him and ask him then,” her father said.
“Who’s Nigel?” Sloane asked, glancing around the group.
“My boyfriend.”
“Oh! Of course you should run it past him,” Sloane said. “He needs to be comfortable with the situation. But you can tell him that even though Sullivan has a bad reputation, he’s not like that when Finn is around.”
“Wow, thanks, sis.” Sullivan rolled his eyes. “Though I doubt that my so-called reputation has made its way to New York.”
Maybe she wasn’t the only one getting steamrolled. She had the sudden feeling that Sullivan wasn’t as nonchalant over the fact that Beaver Bend had branded him a particular way as he liked to pretend.
She felt a strange and unexpected kinship to Sullivan O’Toole that was unwelcome and confusing.
“Fine,” she said tightly to her father. “I’ll call him now.”
She ran up the stairs, suddenly feeling like there were too many eyes and expectations on her. She wanted to call Nigel in private. Or regroup and just genuinely put her foot down and say no to this living arrangement.
Unfortunately, Sullivan followed her.
He took the steps two at a time and came to a halt in her doorway. “Hey, listen,” he said, hovering on the landing. “You don’t have to do this.” He looked sincere. “I don’t want to be the cause of a problem between you and your boyfriend.”
“It’s not a problem,” she said, then immediately wanted to kick herself in the ass repeatedly. Why was she denying it was a problem when it potentially was? He was giving her an out and she should take it, yet now she was genuinely curious to know how Nigel would react. It was official. She was a disaster.
“Are you sure?”
“Nigel isn’t an unreasonable man. I’m irritated because it’s more that it feels like a set up from my dad to make Nigel look like a jerk no matter what he says. If he says he’s fine with it, my dad will say he doesn’t care, but if he protests, then he’s a jealous and possessive asshole.”
