Page 20 of One More Shot
‘Youwound down your window.’
Nan shrugs. ‘I won’t need it, anyway. If I ever did need help to that degree – which I won’t, thank you very much – then you’d just move back in.’
She says it so simply, so casually, like it’s something she’s already considered a hundred times before and this is the only logical conclusion she’s been able to come to.
‘Excuse me?’ I ask.
Nan shakes her head at me like I’m being incredibly dim. ‘If there ever comes a time where Idoneed some further assistance with my day-to-day life, I wouldn’t move into anassisted living facility.’ She says the last three words like they’re poison on her tongue. ‘I’d just move you back into the spare room. We’d have to clear it out, of course, but—’
‘And when did you decide this?’
Nan waves a nonchalant hand in front of her. ‘Your mother and I have already discussed it.’
‘Excuseme?’ I ask again.
‘I’m not sure how many times you want me to repeat myself.’
‘Iheardwhat you said,’ I snap and then immediately regret it when Nan narrows her eyes at me. I clear my throat and I try again, my voice a little more measured and composed this time around. ‘I just— Don’t you think I should’ve been included in those discussions?’
‘Perhaps,’ Nan concedes with a somewhat apologetic shrug. I take it. It’s the best I’m going to get. ‘Well, I’ve told you now, so no harm, no foul.’
‘Nan—’
‘It’s not going to happen anytime soon anyway,’ Nan says, cutting across me like she didn’t hear the interruption. ‘Aside from this damn leg, I’m in tip-top shape. Nothing to worry about. I’m not quite ready to become a burden just yet.’
And there’s the guilt again.
‘You’re not a burden, Nan,’ I mumble. Nan might be several inches shorter than me now but, for some reason, I suddenly feel very small. ‘You could never be.’
Nan looks at me for a long moment, then, seemingly satisfied, gives me a nod. ‘Right. Next on the agenda – I need to go to the bank.’
‘You know you can do pretty much everything online these days?’
‘I prefer a human touch.’
I glance at the clock on the dashboard in front of us. Nearly four o’clock. Between this and my upcoming evening plans with my sister, my day of catching up with my edits has well and truly been stolen from me. ‘Fine,’ I say as I start the car up. ‘We’ll go to the bank, but then I’m taking you home. No other detours.’
Nan purses her lips and looks for a moment like she wants to argue. ‘Fine.’ There’s a beat or two of silence as I start up my car, but then Nan clears her throat and says quietly, ‘Thank you, Eliott.’
My lips lift into a reluctant smile. ‘You don’t have to thank me.’
But I’m glad she does.
Leanne’s late.
The only confirmation I have that she’s actually going to show up and not leave me sitting alone in a bar all evening is the message she sent me thirty minutes ago, promising she was only five minutes away. Though, to be fair, when it comes to Leanne, thirty minutes isn’t actually all that bad. She once left me waiting for three hours at the airport because she missed her flight back home and didn’t think to message to let me know. I can’t take it personally. She’s always been like this. So wrapped up in her own little world that sometimes she forgets the rest of us live here too.
My phone buzzes in my purse suddenly and I pull it out, expecting to see another semi-apologetic message from Leanne. Instead, it’s an Instagram message request notification sent to my photography account.
Ever since Bailey found me and reshared practically my entire feed to her legion of followers, my Instagram inbox has been swamped with brides eager to book me. I’ve never had any trouble getting clients – word-of-mouth spreads quickly within the wedding community and I can usually book up months in advance from referrals alone – but this is the first time I’ve been so in demand from social media. It’s new territory for me, but I can’t say I mind it. My calendar is filling up almost three years in advance, and I owe that all to Bailey. Which makes the fact I’m going to have to decline her booking even worse.
She sent her request a few days ago, but I still haven’t replied. Part of me hopes that if I ignore it for long enough, it’ll go away. The smart, rational part of me knows that I have to respond, but I still haven’t figured out what I want to say.
‘Sorry, I tried to bring your brother home for a night of back-blowing sex, but embarrassed myself so thoroughly that the idea of spending any extended time with him makes me want to hurl.’
Hm. No. For some reason, I don’t think that will go down well. But I need to tell hersomething. Ghosting isn’t an option, no matter how tempting it might seem. Bailey and Cash have been nothing but kind to me, and I owe them an explanation. Even if it’s not exactly the truth.
I pull up the message request, idly wondering if I could pass their booking on to another photographer with a similar style to me, when the username flashing across my screen makes my heart stop for a moment.
