Page 51 of Holding On To Good

“It wasn’t a celebration.” She took another sip of water. “It was a pity party. And I was the guest of honor.”

“Ah,” Hayden said, a knowing smirk on her face. “Got single-shamed at the bridal-slash-baby shower, did you?”

“How’d you know?”

“Why do you think I sent my regrets?” The toast popped up and Hayden put it on a plate, brought it over to the table. Patted Willow’s shoulder as she set it down. “I’m so sorry you’re going to die alone.”

Willow chuckled then moaned. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“You deserve some pain and suffering for letting a bunch of tittering, condescending, judgmental women get to you.”

“Easy for you to say. You’ve been married. Several times.”

“Three is not several. It’s a few. And because I have been married a few times, I have it on good authority that it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.” Hayden put two more slices of bread in the toaster. Opened an upper cabinet and took out a jar of peanut butter. “Except for having someone else take out the garbage. I’m not going to lie. That part’s pretty nice.”

“Brock took out the garbage?” Willow asked of Hayden’s third husband, a gorgeous musician who fronted a local indie rock band, used more hair product than Willow and Hayden combined and had a preference for leather pants.

As he should. The man had a terrific ass.

“Please. Brock, as he so often liked to remind me, was an artist. Artists do not take out the garbage. They also don’t mow the grass, unload groceries or work real jobs that pay enough money to buy groceries.”

“Still so shocked things didn’t work out between you two,” Willow murmured, dry as the corner of toast she was nibbling on. “I really thought you crazy kids were going to make it.”

“I already admitted you were right about him. Not going to repeat myself on that score. We all make mistakes.”

“Yes, but we don’t all marry them.”

Hayden shrugged. “You know what they say: Third time’s the charm. My charm just happens to be the realization that I’m not cut out for the whole happily ever after thing. That, right there, is a valuable life lesson, one I never would have gotten to unless I’d said I do three times. I have no regrets.”

Willow’s stomach turned and she tossed the toast back onto the plate. “I do.”

“You felt sorry for yourself and got a little tipsy,” Hayden said, carrying her toast and coffee to the table. She sat down next to Willow. “Big deal. At least you didn’t do anything stupid.”

“Not true.” Willow kept her gaze on her finger as she slid it through the condensation on the outside or her glass. “I sort of” —she wrinkled her nose— “kissed Urban.”

Hayden paused, peanut butter slathered toast lifted halfway to her mouth. “Yeah?” she asked, totally unconcerned or shocked, as if Willow admitted to putting a lip-lock on her male friends every other day. Then again, she was the only person who knew about Willow’s harmless, hopeless and seemingly endless crush on her childhood buddy. “How was it?”

“He didn’t kiss me back.” Willow slid both hands to her lap and sank back in her chair. “I’m going to have to move to another city. Another state.”

She couldn’t face Urban ever again. She’d kissed him. A full-on mouth-to-mouth kiss.

And he held her wrist with one hand, shoved himself away with the other.

“No one’s going to blame you for kissing Urban,” Hayden said. “He’s yummy, in a quiet, intense, beardy way.”

“You didn’t see his face. He was completely freaked out.”

“You were drunk. Only a creep would’ve taken advantage of you.” Hayden bit into her toast and spoke around her mouthful, “You need to kiss him again.”

Face his complete lack of interest while sober?

No, thanks. Been there, done that, had the residual teenage angst and squashed self-confidence to show for it.

“Urban and I are just friends.”

Those words might as well have been her mantra, the number of times she’d repeated them throughout her life.

Hayden flicked them away with a wave of her toast. “Friendship can evolve. Change. Grow. And if there were ever two people who are made for each other, it’s you and Urban.”

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