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He laughs; a short, self-deprecating chuckle. “When my dog died at the beginning of last year. Stupid, I know.”
My heart squeezes. “It’s not stupid,” I murmur.
He grunts in doubt, not meeting my stare. “I’d had her since she was a puppy—since just before Jer died. I think she was the only reason I didn’t lose my shit entirely back then. But then suddenly she was gone and that buffer was gone with her. I didn’t get out of bed for a week. I’m not proud of it, that it took me so long to actually face losing my best friend.”
A wound I hadn’t known was inside me closes over at his words. Not that I’d ever admitted it, even to myself, but I’d worried about him over the years. Worried he’d locked away his grief too deeply, that it would lead him down dark paths.
“I wish you’d reached out.”
He finally looks at me, his eyes glassy, the blue of them glistening like jewels. “How could I, when I left you to go through it alone?”
Without a thought in my head, I drop my clothes and rush to him, then wrap my arms tightly around his middle. He’s different—we’re different—but in indefinable ways, it feels like coming home. Slowly, his arms lift to return my embrace. He holds me hesitantly at first, but after I squeeze him harder, he finally tightens his arms.
“Much better.” I sigh, melting into the familiar heat of him. Time stretches around us, thick and viscous, merging the past with the present.
“Hey, Peapod?” he whispers into my hair.
“Hmm?”
“This is weird. You feel weird.”
I know by his tone that we’re back on familiar ground. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”
“You have tits now.”
I laugh against his chest. “That’s what happens when you have a kid, dummy. At least in my case.”
I look up, fully expecting to see his smirk, but instead, his expression is soft, almost wistful.
“Don’t make this awkward,” I warn him.
His lips quirk. “Then you’d better back up because it’s about to get awkward.”
“Ugh!” I shove his chest and he skips back a few steps, laughing. I scoop my clothes off the floor, then grab the sweater and shoes he was nice enough to bring inside. “I’m leaving.”
He’s still laughing as he asks, “What about dessert?”
“You think I’d eat any food from you right now?”
He covers his heart with his hands. “You don’t trust me?”
“Not as far as I can throw you,” I say over my shoulder. “See you later, alligator.”
“In a while, crocodile.”
The warmth of his voice, the smile in it, stays with me as I walk across the street to Zoey’s. As I near the porch, I see that the swing is occupied. My friend looks up from the book in her lap, a mug of tea in her opposite hand. She blinks rapidly as she takes in my ensemble and the wet clothes I’m holding. Then a mischievous grin spreads on her face.
“It’s not how it looks,” I say through a chuckle. “Really.”
“Uh-huh. No way you’re leaving here without telling me everything.” Standing, she points to the porch swing, then breezes past me. “I’m making more tea.”
16
I should have told her. I’d been planning on it, and I definitely would have—if she hadn’t dosed me with fucking Carolina Reaper. Little minx. I’m kinda proud of her, though. It was a savage prank. More than that, it means she’s accepting me back into her life.
A man can hope.
Still, she deserves to know what batshit crazy idea woke me up Friday morning before dawn. An idea so outside the rational compass of my life that it skirted positively unhinged. I even took my temperature to make sure I wasn’t sick. When hours passed and it was still all I could think about, I started doing research and making calls.
