Page 7 of Best of Me

“And I work there part-time when I’m not tending bar at Bennet’s,” Jenny adds.

“I’ll have to check both of those out once I’m moved in.”

“Speaking of…” Jenny trails off, leaning down and grabbing a manila folder from her purse. “Here’s your rental agreement.”

After giving it a thorough read-through, I sign and initial on the dotted lines and Jenny passes me the keys. “You can move in any time after Sunday.”

“Do you have a lot to move?” Jenny asks, slipping the duplicate copy of the lease back into her bag.

“No, I sold most of my furniture before moving. Figured I could start fresh.”

“What I’m hearing is you need to do some serious shopping,” Jenny says, sounding all too excited by the prospect.

“Pretty much.”

“Let us know if you want company.”

“Yeah! I’m super-duper good at shopping!” Tatum declares proudly, causing us all to laugh.

chapter four

Duke

It’s hotter than a motherfucker outside today, so naturally it’s the weekend Nate—my best friend and partner on the force—decides to move his fiancée in with him. When he asked me to help them out, it was a no brainer, but now…in the thick of it…yeah, I’m having regrets.

“How much stuff can that little-ass house hold?” I grumble under my breath, passing Nate on the porch as I head in for another load.

“If I buy you a java-frappa-whatever that frou-frou coffee you like is, will you quit your bitching?”

“Extra drizzle.”

Nate blinks at me. “What?”

I shoulder past him into the air-conditioned living room. “You heard me. Extra. Drizzle. That caramel sauce is mmm.”

“I’ll never understand how you drink that shit.”

“Tastes good.” I shrug. “I gotta sweet tooth and a caffeine addiction; two birds, one stone, brother.”

He smirks at me. “Whatever. I’ll buy you one,extra drizzle,if you quit your bitchin’.”

“Sold.”

Two hours and a hell of a lot of boxes later, we have everything loaded up into the beds of our trucks. I’m feeling pretty good until Nate opens his big ass mouth. “All right, now we just gotta unload it all at my place.”

I groan. “Swear, y’all had to pick the middle of summer for this shit.”

“Ah-ah,” Nate scolds, wagging his finger at me like a schoolmarm. “Little boys who complain don’t get fancy-ass coffees.”

“You do realize I could just buy my own, right?”

My friend nods. “True, but we all know it tastes better on someone else’s dime.”

He’s got me there. It’s not just when someone else pays, either; my grandma made the best mashed potatoes this side of the Mississippi, and even following her recipe verbatim, Val couldn’t seem to replicate them, and she knew her way around a kitchen.

A pang of sadness reverberates through me as memories of Valorie and I working around one another in the kitchen flit through my mind. As clear as day, I can see myself sidling up behind her at the stove, my hands on her hips and my face buried in the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent right alongside whatever she was making. I can still hear the way she would sing as she chopped vegetables, her tone sweet but slightly off key.

It’s the memory of these simple, little things that drove me out of Orchard Grove, the only home I’ve ever known. Every room of my apartment was tainted with her essence; every restaurant haunted with her memory. All of these things that once seemed completely innocuous now haunt me, to this day. But that’s what death does; it magnifies the mundane.

---