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Leighton laughs, and I'm surprised by how tightly the sound pulls at the nostalgic strings of my heart. Before I left, I used to hear her laugh all the time. When she's not busy busting people's balls, my ex-best friend has an easy and infectious sense of humor.
I miss it.
I miss her.
“Pretty sure that's just his permanent expression now, though,” she says with a shrug. “He's had a chronic resting bitch face since the day you left.”
“He was never much of a smiler anyway.”
She shoots me a sideways glance. “You and I both know that's not true.”
I pull Cole's flannel tighter around my body and bury my nose into the collar of it, the scent of it just as comforting to me as the shirt itself.
“Anyway“—her lips tilt in a knowing smirk—“things can't be that bad. You're wearing his shirt.”
My heart plummets. Why would she recognize his shirt?
Leighton barks a laugh at the stricken expression on my face. “Oh honey, you can stop whatever it is you're thinking right now. I saw him wearing it earlier.”
“Oh.” I chuckle awkwardly. “I thought...”
“I know what you thought. Are you sure Hollywood hasn't made you paranoid?”
A grin slips free. “Maybe a little bit.”
“At least you can admit it now.”
Laughing, I nudge her gently with my elbow. “Shut up.”
“Seriously, it's a big step.” The smile she gives me is warm and easy. “I'm proud of you.”
I can't remember the last time I genuinely smiled, let alone laughed. Amid the fog of grief from losing my dad and the animosity that radiates from every person in town, I've been treading water just to try and keep my head above the surface. Leighton's gentle teasing is everything I didn't know I needed right now.
“Hey, Leigh?” The old nickname I always used to call her slips out before I can stop it.
She raises a brow but doesn't call me out on it. “Yeah?”
“Think you'd wanna get coffee with me while I'm in town? Maybe. If you wanted. You don't have to, I just thought...” I trail off, the fear of her rejection lodging words in my throat. Her dark eyes that previously sparkled with amusement soften at my nervous rambling. Yet, she says nothing. “Never mind,” I whisper, fighting to keep the emotion out of my voice. “It’s probably a bad idea anyway.”
“I like coffee.”
“What?” My gaze snaps to hers.
She shrugs casually. “Let's do it.”
“Seriously?” I don't even bother trying to hide my surprised excitement. “You really wanna go?”
“I mean, why not?”
I don't want to remind her of the day she delivered Cole's flowers and the resentment that dripped from every word she spat at me. Or even the grilling she gave me not even five minutes ago.
“Okay, great. That's really great. Can I text you to set it up?”
“Sure. Still got my number?”
I nod, fumbling with my purse to try and find my phone. But by the time I've managed to pull it out, Leighton's attention has been snagged on something else—or rather,someoneelse.
Crew Mesaric, one of Cole's younger brothers, is sitting on a haybale on the other side of the barn, elbows resting on spread knees, a lager bottle held loosely in his hand between them. His stare is locked on Leighton—unwavering, ruthless and cold.
