AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Course it is.”
“Then why ain’t you sighing too?”
“Come off it, woman.” Burt says this in a syrupy tone. He might as well be sayingI adore youoryou’re beautiful. “Just let me observe their love story. They remind me of us when we were young, don’t they?”
“He looks at her the way you look at me, darn tootin’.”
They nuzzle noses.
Meanwhile, Greta’s still inspecting us, and the woman is a vault, locked up, her feelings hidden. “My house isn’t cheap.” She names her price—steep, for sure, but not terribly extreme, especially given the last-minute nature.
“That price works fine for us,” I say, hopefully not too enthusiastically. The woman seems to be a bit of a shark, but one that can sniff out joy instead of blood. “Do you know if it’s available?”
“I need to check my schedule.” She makes no move to do so.
“Greta, come on now,” Bea says. “Surely you can see they’re a nice couple. Just like you and Charlie were.”
Oh no, she said that in the past tense. Perhaps our joy makes her sad for what she used to have and has no longer. “I’m sorry for your loss,” I whisper.
Her head jerks up and she studies me. Then she nods, as if she’s decided something. “All right, you can have the place next Sunday.”
“Really?” And before she can say another word, I drop Frederick’s hand, lean forward, and catch her in a hug.
She’s a bit fragile, her bones thin, but she squeezes back before tapping my upper arm. “Don’t get all mushy, girl. It’s just a house. You can come by and tour it Tuesday around four if you’d like. I’m leaving town tomorrow and Monday.”
“Thank you. We’ll be there.”
But Greta is wrong. It’s not just a house.
It’s the final puzzle piece in the wedding planning. Most everything else is done. I just need to find a caterer—Marilee’s still asking her brother about that—and a photographer, confirm that everything else is going all right on Shelby’s end.
No, it’s not just a house.
It’s hope that my crazy idea just might work out after all.
sixteen
FREDERICK
I’m fairly certain I made a grave error in kissing Chloe on Friday evening.
Once again, I’m lying here on my makeshift bed staring up at the hotel room ceiling in the middle of the night, because sleep won’t come. It’s only been thirty hours since we kissed, but I cannot stop thinking about it.
About doing it again, this time in private when nobody is watching, and we can take all the time in the world …
That can’t happen, though, even in the context of this all being fake. Because something became abundantly clear to me in the aftermath of the kiss. If I’m reading her correctly, there’s interest there. I’m not sure why I didn’t notice it before. Perhaps because I told myself this was all a ruse, but when I really think about it, Chloe wears her heart on her sleeve. She’s not really capable of pretending—notthatwell, anyhow.
And the way she looked at me after that kiss …
Of course, that changes nothing in the long run. Even if she finds me mildly attractive, there’s no future for us, which means I have to be even more careful to not take advantage of her.
I stretch my calves and pray for even the tiniest hint of a yawn to tickle the back of my throat. Not even my little counting trick has worked this time around, and it doesn’t help that my head is hurting too. Not terribly, but that familiar dull ache that migraine sufferers are used to living with. The pain is compounded because I’m lying here, just feeling it. And thinking of her.
I just might be doomed to pull an all-nighter, and the reason has nothing to do with studying, drinking, or carousing in any manner.
It’s all because ofher.
At least one of us is sleeping peacefully. As soon as we got back to the room after a long afternoon and evening spent browsing the wine and art booths, and hanging out with Marilee and Jordan—who invited us on a hike tomorrow—Chloe changed into her PJs and flopped into bed, humming to herself. Securing a venue seemed to put an extra big pep into her step tonight, and I’m grateful for it.
