Page 74 of Love Is Ale You Need

“Rylee, what are you going to do about money?”

Ten seconds before the money talk. That’s a new record. “I’ll figure it out.”

After I got pregnant with Abby, it was my mother who convinced me I needed to marry Kyle, even though I was hesitant. Her insistent nagging about needing money, someone to take care of me, and not being alone finally wore me down into saying yes. It’s something I deeply regret now. She’s convinced herself that if she was married to my dad, he would have never left, but I’m pretty sure he had one foot out the door since the day I was born.

“Please tell me he at least has a real job and not working at a bar.”

The blows start coming. Number one. “Yes, he has a job and before you ask, yes, he’s planning on helping with the baby.” I pull open the junk drawer in the kitchen and pull out a nail file to fix a hangnail.

“Well at least there’s that. I still can’t believe that you’re divorced and with another kid on the way. If you stayed with Kyle, you wouldn’t be in this predicament.”

Blow number two. “No. It was the cheating that kind of made me realize I shouldn’t be with him.”

“Sometimes you need to brush those things aside and think about your family.”

I slam the nail file down. “Being married to someone I don’t love isn’t thinking about my family.”

“You’d at least have some stability. God knows you need that in your life.”

And blow number three. “Got it.” Sometimes it’s easier to nod a smile than trying to argue with her.

“There is only one certainty in life, and it isn’t love. So, take your happiness while you still can.”

I can’t imagine jumping from husband to husband is happiness, but to each their own. “Alright Mother, great chat. Inspiring as always. I’ll let you know when I have the baby. Okay bye.” I end the call before she can say anything else. It’s always a self-esteem boost talking to her.

* * *

A knock on my door startles me off the couch. The only two people who knock on my door are Marcie, which is always a knock and barge in if I left the door unlocked, or pancake guy down the hall asking for flour. For whatever reason, he always smells like pancakes and maple syrup which isn’t necessarily bad, but it’s strong. Trey is still at work, so that eliminates him.

I peer through the peephole and my brows furrow. Trey’s friend, Bennett, stands on the other side. His dark hair blends well with the red flannel he’s wearing. Twisting the knob, I pull it open. “Hi. What are you doing here?”

“I have a table to deliver.” He holds up a piece of dark stained wood.

“Oh! Yes! Come in.” I hold the door open for him. “How did you get in? The front is normally locked.”

“Your neighbor Marcie. She said something about you needing a sex table so you can stop having sex against her living room wall.”

Warmth spreads over my cheeks. Marcie and her big mouth.

Bennett rocks the piece of wood back and forth on the floor. “And she mentioned if I came with the table, I could deliver it to her place.”

I bark out a laugh. “She’s been binge watching shows about farmers finding love. The red flannel must have given her the vibe, but she’s harmless.” I point to the empty spot in the dining room. “Anyway. The table can go there.”

Bennett leans the piece of wood against the wall.

“It’s kind of small.” I cock my head to the side. “Do I have to water it and it will grow?”

His gaze jumps to mine, eyebrows drawn together.

“Sorry. Sarcasm. Blame it on Trey.” I shrug a shoulder and smirk.

He nods as his head lifts to me. “He tends to do that. Also, congratulations. On the baby. Trey told me.”

I rest a hand on my belly. “Thanks.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Trey’s a different kind of guy. When he sets his mind to something, he gives it one hundred percent. He’s all in, and it’s hard to convince him otherwise.” He drops his hand and shoves it into the front pocket of his jeans. “But one thing I’ll say is that he’s loyal to a fault. He always lays his cards on the table, so you know exactly what you’re getting. I’ll say this, I’ve never seen him as happy as he is with you.”

“Well, we’ll be in each other’s lives for at least eighteen years.”

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