Page 74 of Where You Left Me

“Hmm?” I ask, glancing over at him.

“Those two—Maverick and Camille.”

“Oh, right.” I exhale a light laugh before I focus on Maverick and Cammie in front of me. “To be honest, it took me a few days of seeing them together before I was convinced it was real.”

“Ha,” he barks. “It took me a month before I could even stand to look at them in the same room.”

I snort a laugh. Jones has always been protective over his little sister and ready to fight anyone who tried messing withher. I can only imagine how awkward things got when it was his best friend on the receiving end.

When I glance over at Jones, he’s got his attention on Maverick and Cammie, his eyes are soft.

“You seem fine with it now,” I suggest.

He finally turns to look at me and lets go of the reigns to throw up a hand. “Look at them. How can I not? It doesn’t take a genius to see how happy they make each other.”

“They’re like Monica and Chandler,” I point out, a smile pulling at my lips.

“What?”

“You know, from FRIENDS?”

He waves me off with a groan. “You still watch that shit too? So does Cammie and Rosie. You girls do realize that show has been over for like two decades?”

I shrug. “I like that I’ve seen it a hundred times. It’s predictable. It brings me comfort.”

Learning this about Cammie and Rosie causes my heart to give a little squeeze in my chest. Even though the years and miles spanned between us, we still have things in common.

“I guess. Seems boring to me. That would be like me watching the final game in the Stanley Cup playoffs over and over.”

“I highly doubt you’d find that boring.” I give him an amused smile.

He chuckles to himself. “Okay, maybe that was a bad example. I’d watch anything hockey, a game, playoffs, highlights. I eat that shit up.”

“I’m glad you’re still into hockey. You ever play anymore?”

“I’m too old. Where am I gonna play? Some beer league?”

“Exactly. And you’re not too old. Your dad played in a bar league until after he was fifty, didn’t he?”

He grunts. “Yeah, but it’s not like the NHL was knocking on his door to draft him at the right age of fifty.”

Buttercup tries to speed up to catch up to the lead horses and I have to pull back on the reigns slightly. “Easy, girl,” I murmur, giving her a light pat on her neck.

“It’s sad if you ask me. At least I have the sense to not be like him and know when to quit.”

“Your dad played because he loved the sport. That’s passion. And I think if you’re anything like your dad, you should be so lucky.” I try to push the annoyance away. The last thing I want is Buttercup sensing my frustration.

“You’re right.” He chuckles. “Shit. You’re always right.”

I can’t help smiling.

By the time we make it to the lake, and I climb off Buttercup, my legs are screaming at me. It doesn’t seem to matter that I’ve been hiking, working at the store, riding bikes, andridingJones, horseback riding uses entirely different muscles. But they ache in a satisfying way. Like I’ve accomplished something.

“We can let the horses rest here for a bit,” Nico says, tying his horse up under a tree.

Cammie is bent slightly rubbing her thighs. “Thank God. I don’t know about the horses, but I know I sure could use a break.”

“What’s the matter, your muscles not conditioned from all the screwin’ you and Maverick do?”

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