Her best friend leaned against the side of the truck. “Something wrong?”
It was the second time she’d been asked that question in just a few minutes. “I’m not sure,” Hattie said.
“Well, you look like you just saw a ghost. Where’d you run off to after we finished shooting? Trae was looking all over for you.”
Hattie hesitated. “What are you doing tonight?”
“I’m gonna go home and chill.”
“You wouldn’t want to come over to my place and chill, would you?” Hattie asked.
“Really? You don’t have plans with your new squeeze?”
“Don’t call him that,” Hattie said, her voice sharper than she intended. “Sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m just tired. And on edge. And to tell you the truth, I’m spooked.”
“You?”
“Yeah. So what do you want to order in? Thai? Mexican? Burgers?”
“Let’s do healthy,” Cass said. “I’ll pick up something at Whole Foods and meet you at your place.”
“Healthy? Who are you?”
“I’ll explain when I get there,” Cass said.
* * *
By the time Cass arrived, Hattie had showered and changed into a pair of frayed gym shorts and one of Hank’s ratty old T-shirts.
Cass unpacked cardboard cartons of kale salad, fruit salad, and grilled chicken as Hattie set out plates and silverware on the kitchen table.
“I brought a bottle of wine,” Cass said, but Hattie waved her off.
“I’m on the wagon. At least for a couple of days.”
“Intriguing.”
The two women ate in companionable silence with Ribsy crouched beneath the table waiting for handouts.
“I’ve missed this,” Hattie said, spearing a chunk of pineapple with her fork.
“Me too,” Cass said. “But you’ve been kind of busy these past few weeks, so I’m not complaining.”
Hattie thought about that for a moment. “I think I might have broken the best friend commandment. Hoes before bros.”
“You kinda did,” Cass agreed.
“I just … got swept up in the moment,” Hattie said. “Literally swept off my feet.”
“I get it. Trae Bartholomew is a pretty irresistible force,” Cass said. “You know, if you like your guys tall and sexy and charming.”
“Ugh. What a lethal combination.” Hattie slipped a sliver of chicken to Ribsy.
“I take it the charm has worn off? Does Trae know?”
“No. I’m such a chickenshit. I avoided him as much as possible today.”
“Anything happen in particular?” Cass asked.
Hattie looked around the kitchen. For the first time she noticed the broom and dustpan standing in the corner of the room. Had Mo actually swept her floor the previous night, while she was passed out on the sofa?
“I think it was a combination of things. I won’t bore you with the details, but while we were sanding the floors last night, I drank a lot of really good champagne—way more than I meant to, and things got pretty steamy.”
“Oooh. How steamy?”
“Very. But then we were horsing around—did I mention I was totally drunk? And I kind of fell on top of Trae, and I might have screamed, really really loudly, and then the next thing we know, Mo charges in from nowhere, thinking I’m being murdered or something … which pisses off Trae. So he up and left.”
“Okay. You’ve lost me,” Cass said. “You were drunk. Was Trae also drunk?”
“Nope.”
“He just left you at the house? Drunk? How did you get home?”
“Mo drove me. I must have nodded off on the way, but he got me into the house and loaded me onto the sofa. I’m pretty hazy about the details, but I’m pretty sure that before he left, he leaned down and kissed me.”
“Like, a brotherly peck on the cheek?”
“Definitely not.”
“You’re sure you didn’t dream it?”
“Nuh-uh. I touched my lips and they were still damp.”
“You probably just drooled on yourself,” Cass reasoned. “You tend to do that when you pass out drunk.”
“I’m telling you, Mo kissed me,” Hattie insisted. “He was muttering about how Trae wasn’t a good guy. And then he kissed me and said he’d never do me that way. And he left. But first I think he maybe swept the kitchen floor.”
“What do you think that means?”