Page 32 of Falling for You Again

Charlie backed away from him, and I caught a sheen to her eyes before she ducked her head. “Excuse me. I need to take a walk.” She left the house, both Aaron and Murphy watching her go.

Murphy shot me a look of apology and said to Aaron, “I’ll clean up.”

When he retreated to the basement to collect a broom and dustpan, Aaron moved closer to me. “Sorry you had to see that,” he said quietly.

“You said she’d understand. We don’t have to marry if this is going to cause problems with you two.” I didn’t want to come between them, not for my sake.

“She’ll come around. She always does.”

“Do you argue often?”

A hint of a smile appeared on him. “This was mild compared to others. It’ll be okay.” He rubbed my arm.

I’m not sure if Charlie ever made it to the game, but I chose to believe Aaron. After helping Murphy clean up and saying a quick goodbye to them both, I left for the shop to sand Isadora’s table so I could start staining on Monday. It would need a couple of weeks to off-gas before delivery.

“I know Aaron Borland, Savant’s COO. We met at a show a couple of years back,” I explain to the gals, mildly surprised at how easily the lie comes. “I told him last night that my uncle’s been negotiating a deal that involved me without my consent. He agreed he’ll look into it.”

“Because you slept with him,” Tam deadpans.

I choke on my bittersweet cocktail. “When you put it like that ...”

“You should have seen them dance the waltz. This guy has moves. And the way he was looking at Meli.” Emi folds her hands over her heart. “Swoon.”

I roll my eyes. “It wasn’t like that. She’s exaggerating.”

“Am not. Not once did Paul ever look at you that way.”

“Are you going to see him again?” Shae asks.

I open my mouth, on the brink of telling them we’re getting married. But no, now isn’t the time. I’ll wait until Shae and Tam leave. They won’t understand. Emi won’t either, but she knows me better. She was there after I’d jilted Paul. In fact, she was thrilled I’d ditched my wedding.

“She sawa lotof him last night.” Emi waggles her brows.

I blush.

“We want details.” Shae presses her palms together and claps just her fingers.

The oven timer buzzes.

“Hold that thought,” Emi says. “Dinner’s ready.”

We bring the food to the table—the tenderloin, a salad, and some sides—and load our plates. Emi opens a bottle of prosecco and Tam pours the chianti. Shae toasts to good friends and delicious food. Then to my relief, the conversation veers to Tam and Shae’s latest project. When they were filming a fancy new faucet installation, Raj, their enthusiastic host, triggered the high-pressure setting and drenched the crew. I only half listen as I watch them finish each other’s sentences and touch each other with affection and respect to emphasize a point or expound on another. The adoration on their faces when they compliment each other. I’ve never witnessed my parents treat one another in such a way. I doubt Uncle Bear has ever come close to treating anyone like that.

“How do you do it?” I interrupt.

Conversation stalls as they all turn to me.

“Do what?” Tam asks.

I circle my hands at them. “This. You. Together. All the fucking time. And you still love each other. Don’t you get upset Tam spends more time editing videos than she does with you?” I ask Shae. She once confided that she spent a lot of weekends alone because Tam couldn’t pull herself away from a project.

“Of course I do.” Shae’s expression darkens over my betrayal. That wasn’t kind of me. Whatever. I’m trying to make a point. “But it goes both ways. Sometimes I’m the one hyperfocused on work. Rememberthat one project where for weeks I worked nights until one in the morning?” she asks her wife.

“That was the worst. She was so tired. The project wasn’t going well.”

“We argued all the time,” Shae says. “I took my frustration out on her.”

“She was a bitch.”

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