Page 15 of Digging Up Love
Meg came around to snoop over her shoulder, but she ignored her and sent a reply.
Alisha:
I’ll look around when I get home and let you know.
Unknown:
Thanks.
“Sparks fly,” said Meg dryly.
“I told you there’s nothing going on.”
She sighed and leaned her chin on Alisha’s shoulder. “Is it so wrong that I want a man for my best friend?”
“It is when you put it that way, yes. And also disturbing.” But she tipped her head down to rest on Meg’s. They sat that way for a moment, with the buzz of basketball in the background, food and drink forgotten in all the almosts and what-ifs they’d consoled each other through over the years.
Line Quentin right up along with the rest. Right guy, right place, wrong girl.
“How long do you think the dig will take—all summer?” Meg broke the embrace and walked back to her stool.
Alisha dipped another mozzarella stick into the marinara. “Gosh, I hope not. Grandpa spent all afternoon complaining about strangers running rampant on our property. Maybe I should’ve just told Dr.Harris the dig was a no-go, instead of letting him plead his case.”
When she’d reemerged from soaking the mud out of her braids, Grandpa was home, talking to Quentin in the backyard. She’d cracked her attic window and caught the words, “All right. Save me digging them up myself.” The dig was a go.
Meg shook her head. “Stop. Your grandpa always has to make a stink. It’s in his nature. I bet deep down he’s thrilled.”
“I don’t doubt it. But what about Granny?” She discarded the uneaten mozzarella stick on her napkin. “I don’t love the idea of a bunch of strangers out back when I’m not around to watch out for her.”
“It’s not your grandma you should be worried about.” Meg waggled her expertly microbladed brows.
“I’m serious.” She flicked a balled-up napkin toward her friend. “Next thing you know, she’ll be trying to serve them breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Cleaning the house at all hours of the day on the off chance they pop in for a drink. I know her. She doesn’t need that kind of stress. No way I can leave for Chicago until this dig wraps up.”
“Does that mean you told your grandparents about moving?” Meg pillowed her cheek against clasped hands.
And this is why she hadn’t let anyone else in on the plan. The constant prodding. Didn’t Meg get it? Her grandparents came first. Shifting her eyes to a sticky coaster on the table, Alisha hedged, “Uh, not yet.”
“Hmm, shocking.” Out of nowhere, Meg slapped the table with flat palms. Someone over at the bar hollered in response, but she didn’t even bat an eyelash, keeping her gaze trained on her friend. “Alisha Marianne Blake, when are you going to pull the trigger?”
With a groan, Alisha slumped onto her elbows, shoulders round. She poured ranch into the marinara and mixed them into a Pepto-Bismol pink. “I dunno. Maybe on a night when a dinosaur doesn’t turn up in our swimming pool?”
Pushing Alisha’s hand away from the dipping-sauce slop, Meg said, “Ali, there’s always going to be a dinosaur.”
“Umm—”
“Shut up, you know what I mean. I’ll give you a few weeks; then you leave me no choice but to say something in front of Mrs.S—then we’ll see how long your secret stays safe.”
“Empty threats,” said Alisha, rolling a dart along the sloping tabletop. “And why is my best friend so intent on getting rid of me? Way to make a girl feel cherished.”
“Because your best friend wants you to be happy, and you hate it here.”
“I don’t hate it ...”
“Okay, and I don’t hate brussels sprouts. I just despise it when people waste bacon and butter on something that tastes like it was harvested in a swamp.”
“I like Hawksburg more than you like brussels sprouts.”
“Barely.” Meg stopped the dart with a fingertip. “I already miss you, and you haven’t even left yet. But you’re not happy here, girl. I’d rather only see you a few times a year and know you’re fulfilled than see you unhappy every day.”
