“Your mom said you love working in Fisher’s shop downstairs. I don’t go down there. It’s too dusty. But I’m sure he dreams of teaching our kids his skills someday. If they show no interest, he’ll wonder why he didn't get a child like you.”
I choked on my wine, and Rose came to the rescue, slapping my back a little too hard while Rory jumped into the conversation. “Reese has always been curious and hands-on with things. Even as a little girl, she wanted to do everything she saw her dad and me doing.”
“Oh …” Angie’s nose wrinkled. “That sounded weird. I’m sorry.” She slapped her palm to her forehead. “I wasn’t implying you’re a child. That … just …” She set her wine down and buried her face in Fisher’s chest.
He held his good arm, the one holding the beer, out to the side so as not to spill it on impact.
“It’s been a long day.” She chuckled, rolling her forehead against his chest as his casted arm rested gently on her back.
Every thirty seconds I had to remind myself that Angie’s mind remembered everything about Fisher Mann since he was six years old. She felt comfortable in his presence and in his embrace. Not just as a lover, but as a friend of nearly thirty years.
“It’s fine. I knew what you meant.”
Nope. I had no idea what she meant. It was the craziest comparison. But I wasn’t in the business of making people feel bad or uncomfortable. If Angie and I wouldn’t have been competing for the same bachelor, we might have been better friends. I related to her being an only child and losing a parent. For the three years between my dad dying and Rory getting out of prison, I felt like an orphan. Angie loved a good glass of wine and pretty dresses. So did I. And she loved Fisher Mann … and so did I.
I didn’t hate her.
In many ways, I was her.
“I turned on the porch heater. Let’s go out there.” Rory handed Rose her beer and grabbed the two pizza boxes.
Fisher and Angie snagged the plates and napkins while I carried my wine out with two hands like a good little girl.
Fisher’s main level porch was a three-season porch with nice furniture and lots of plants. Rory deposited the pizzas on the irregular shaped wood coffee table before taking a seat next to Rose on a love seat while Fisher sat on the opposing love seat with Angie right next to him, her back partially molded to his chest like she was his stuffed animal to cuddle.
That left the light gray bean-bag-like chair for me. Its back and arms were more structured than a bean bag, which made it the most comfortable chair in the house. That seemed fair since I drew the fifth-wheel spot for the night.
“Well, someone has a birthday in two weeks.” Rory sipped her beer and eyed me.
I returned a tight-lipped grin and focused on not spilling my red wine on Fisher’s light gray chair.
“If you’re not on call, we should go camping.”
“Sounds cold.” After taking a slow sip of my wine, I shot her a toothy grin.
“Campfire. Warm sleeping bags. Wool mittens. We’ll be fine. We never went camping when you were younger. Your dad wasn’t a camper. But Rose and I bought camping gear several years ago. And we think it would be fun to go as a group.”
“A group?” I discouraged my curious mind from steering my gaze toward Fisher as I hoped her group reference was to a group of people from her work or some camping group they joined. If that was even a thing.
“Us. Your village.” Rory circled her head, signaling to the room. “What do you two say? Are you in for camping on Reese’s birthday?” she asked Fisher and Angie.
“Sounds fun. I haven’t been camping in years. I think Fish has plenty of gear from all the camping he’s done with his family. Right, babe?”