“I’m s—our?”
“You’re the one who has to live your life. Don’t apologize to other people for the decisions you make for yourself.”
My voice of reason best friend. No judgments. No second-guessing. Just unconditional love and support…and the occasional truth bomb. He was one in a billion.
“You’re right. As usual. But I still should have let you know I was pulling a runaway bride.”
“You definitely should have. Although, I did get great pleasure seeing Warner’s mother break the news to him in front of the entire congregation. Watching them both trying not to freak out to keep their porcelain reputation intact was comedic. Besides, I took one of the groomsmen home.”
“Which one?”
“Paul.”
“Nice. He looked good in his tux,” I mused.
“He looked better out of it.”
“Hey-oh!”
“Speaking of hot sex. Back to the beast.”
I choked on my wine. “There’s no sex happening with the beast. He called me ‘needy’ and ‘uppity’ and a ‘pain in his ass.’ He’s rude. He’s constantly yelling at me or complaining about me. Telling me I’m not his type. As if I wished I were his type,” I scoffed.
“Why are you whispering?”
“Because he lives right there,” I said, pointing my glass in the direction of Knox’s cabin.
“Oooh. Grumpy next-door neighbor. That’s one of my favorite tropes.”
“The first time he met me, he called me trash.”
“That bitch.”
“Well, technically he thought I was Tina when he was yelling at me in front of an entire cafe full of strangers.”
“That vision-impaired bitch.”
“God, I love you.” I sighed.
“Back at you, Witty. So, to clarify, you’re definitely not sleeping with the hot, grumpy, tattooed neighbor who took you shopping for underwear and a phone?”
“I am five thousand percent definitely not sleeping with Knox. And he only went shopping with us because there were reports of a man in town looking for me.”
“You’re telling me he’s a grumpy, overprotective hottie next-door and you’re not going to sleep with him? How wasteful.”
“How about instead of talking about Knox, I’ll tell you why I burned rubber out of the church parking lot and ended up homeless in Knockemout?”
“Don’t forget carless,” he added.
I rolled my eyes. “And carless.”
“I’ll get the truffles I hid in your bedroom,” Stef volunteered.
“I really wish you were straight,” I said.
“If I could be straight for anyone, it would be you,” he said, clinking his glass to mine.
“Where did these glasses come from?” I asked, frowning at the barware.
“These are my car wine glasses. I always carry a pair.”
“Of course you do.”
Dear Naomi,
Your father and I are having a wonderful time even though you haven’t been updating us on what’s going on in your life. Barcelona was beautiful, but it would have been even more beautiful if we knew our daughter wasn’t spiraling into a depression or some sort of mid-life crisis.
Guilt-tripping over. You should have seen our tour guide, Paolo. Hubba hubba as the kids say. I attached a photo that I took. He’s single if you want me to bring you back a souvenir.
Love,
Mom
SEVENTEEN
MAN-TO-MAN
Knox
It was too damn early for someone to be banging on my front door. They deserved what they got. I yanked on a pair of gym shorts and stumbled down the stairs, rubbing sleep out of my eyes.
“Someone better be dead,” I muttered, nearly taking a header over Waylon, who put on the speed on the last three steps.
“What?” I said, yanking the door open.
The obnoxiously good-looking Stef—stupid, misleading name—peered at me over his expensive sunglasses.
“Good morning to you, too,” he said. He wore golf shorts and one of those patterned button-downs that only lean guys who spent hours a week at the gym could pull off.
My dog shoved half his body out onto the porch and gazed lovingly up at the intruder.
“Who’s a good boy? Who’s a handsome boy?” Stef said, squatting down to pet him.
Waylon basked in the attention.
I rubbed a hand over my face. “What do you want?”
Mr. Smooth held up two cups of coffee in a to-go tray. “Coffee talk.”
I snatched one out of his hand and stomped away from the door into the kitchen. Waylon trotted after me anticipating his breakfast.