Page 44 of Best Served Cold

She hands her a rock, although it’s not the same one that’s sitting in my pocket. It looks like pink quartz.

“I can’t take this,” Sophie insists, looking pained by the thought of accepting a gift.

“Good luck with that,” I tell her. “She’s as good at taking no for an answer as you are at stopping the thank-yous.”

Sophie’s lips part in surprise. “You have one too?”

“Indeed,” Dottie says, “and so do Briar and Hannah, although I had to hide Hannah’s in her jacket pocket the other day. I didn’t think she’d be happy to take it, the dear. But you all need them. I can see that very clearly. They’ll help you believe in love again.”

She’s not looking at Sophie, but I see the pained face Soph makes. Yeah, she’s not ready to believe in love again, but she’s exactly the sort to believe in crystals. I try not to laugh.

Dottie gets out of the car, but Sophie lingers. Glancing at me, she says, “I’d like to see your band perform sometime.”

I feel myself leaning toward her slightly. “Will you be in the front row dancing?”

“I might even throw confetti at you.”

“Only if it’s glitter confetti. I have standards to uphold. I think you’ll get your chance, you know; we’re playing at Buchanan on Friday night.”

She smiles at me—and this smile is genuine and a bit fierce. I can imagine her saying,You will be cheerful, Rob Price.“I remember you saying something about that! I’m working that night. I owe you another drink. Nonalcoholic. Whatever you want.”

“You’ll get me another soda, then?” I joke. Some of the breweries have other options, but not many of them.

Her frown plants a furrow between her brows. “There isn’t much, is there? I think we should do something about that. I owe you?—”

I capture her hand and then release it quickly. She’s my asshole brother’s ex, and I’ve got no business holding her hand like some kind of p-e-r-v-e-r-t. “You owe me nothing,” I insist. “You didn’t owe me the ginger ale either.”

“You have your ways, and I have mine. Are you going to get into trouble for what happened last night?”

“For paying your bar bill? Nah. I don’t think the cops will take me in for that.”

She gives me a level look. “You know what I mean.”

I do. There will be consequences. With Jonah and my father’s family, there always are. But I’ve decided I don’t care. They don’t have power over me anymore. When I was a kid, I had no choice but to live in my father’s house. No choice but to try to get along, especially since my father paid for my mother to go to rehab the first time, and technically the second.

But I don’t have to play their games anymore. Mom’s doing well now, living in Montana with her second husband, a retired rancher, and a potbellied pig. I don’t have to worry about her anymore, only about myself, and Jonah doesn’t have anything I want. My father either.

“That’s not for you to worry about,” I tell Sophie. “The problems Jonah and I have with each other have nothing to do with you. They go back years. My father always sides withhim, pretty much, because he likes getting action from my stepmother, who hates me. But I stopped worrying what any of them think of me a long time ago. It’s easier that way.”

“Well, I appreciate your help,” she says, squeezing my forearm. “If there’s anything I can do for you, name it.”

“Same,” I say as she reaches for the door to leave. “I want to be there for you.”

She looks surprised by this, then her expression shifts to confused.I’mconfused. I hadn’t intended to get pulled further into her business or Jonah’s.

Our connection probably should have ended two weeks ago, when I chauffeured her to Silver Star. It was likely a mistake to come when called today, but I know she’s not a woman who asks for favors. She’s usually the one who gives them without being asked. The fact that she asked me to come get her means something, and I couldn’t say no. Didn’t want to.

“I’m sorry, andthank you,” she says with a wicked look, since she knows how I feel about apologies and has already thanked me endless times. Then she leaves the car, laughing, before I can tell her to take it back.

I watch her until she’s safely inside. Then I check the time on my phone, finding a text from Travis.

Are you Pollyanna’s chauffeur now?

Smiling, I type back:

Looks like. Are we still practicing?

No. Turns out the band sounds pretty bad with just a bass guitar and the drums. We’re thinking of going tubing on the French Broad if you want to come.

---