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Cole keeps right on glaring at Skye.
The woman’s in her sixties, petite, all muscle, and sinew. Her hair is in one long wispy silver braid down her back, and she’s dressed in all white. Her bare feet are tanned. No tan lines, either. She must spend about as much time in shoes as she spends on the computer.
“Yeah, but they’remykeys,” Cole says through gritted teeth. “Why should I hand them over to a stranger?”
“Because she asked.”
“What if there’s an emergency?”
Does he have to be like this?
Really?
“If there’s an emergency, we’ll get them back. Skye’s not being unreasonable. She’s asking for us to make a gesture of—what did you call it?”
I check in on Skye. All her white clothing makes her look super spiritual, like she just stepped out of a legit ashram, and she’s going to impart all sorts of wisdom.
Thankfully, she doesn’t seem too fazed by the daggers Cole’s shooting at her with his eyes. “A gesture of commitment,” she supplies.
She smiles peacefully up at Cole, who’s about two feet taller than her. “I completely understand your resistance, my friend. It’s natural, and most people bristle when I make this request. But I assure you, handing over your keys truly is a gesture of commitment to this difficult, challenging, heart-opening process that is going to result in big rewards for you and your lover.”
Hislover? Oh, my goodness. She means me.
I fight off a giggle and try to look like this is a serious moment between two ‘lovers’.
“Baby,” I say, while giving Cole's arm another tight squeeze. “Just give her the truck keys, ‘kay? We’re both… um, committed to this process, right? This, erm—healing process… for us?”
Now he aims those daggersmyway. “I really don’t want to be here.”
His dark eyes smolder.
His tone’s tight.
Clearly, he’s annoyed.
I shrug.Tough luck, buddy. We both care about Trent, and we’re here for him.
Skye, beside us, gives Cole an encouraging nod. “Wonderful truth statement, my friend! That’s the sort of honesty we’re going to be after, these next few days. Try again. Tell Olivia how you really feel.”
He clenches his jaw, and his dark, scruffy beard ripples. “There are so many places I’d rather be right now.”
“Okay, and that’s fine, honey,” I say, as I deliver another everything's-fine grin toward Skye, “but we’rehere, and I’m asking you to just cooperate for once instead of making everything difficult.”
“Does Cole tend to make things difficult?” Skye asks me. In my periphery, I see Trent head Maggie’s way.
He’s been quiet all morning. I thought he’d be in a better frame of mind today, given how much he perked up yesterday in his office. But apparently, he didn’t sleep last night, he was so stressed about seeing her.
I watch the two greet one another.
Maggie keeps her arms crossed. Trent’s hands are jammed in his pockets. Uh oh. They’re not even hugging.
Skye should be talking tothem, not me and Cole. They’re the ones who actually need help. I can barely remember what she asked me. Oh, right. It was something about Cole’s argumentative, grumpy, negative attitude. “Yeah, he likes to shoot down ideas, be a big old party pooper, and argue. I’m used to it.”
I reach out, pry the keys right out of Cole’s big hand, and toss them into the bowl. “There we go. Was that really so hard?”
He grunts.
Typical.
