Page 18 of Merry Mayhem
“You’re coming to Harley and Bruce’s house? Why?”
“Dinner.” He frowns and steps forward. “Wait, Harley? This is Harley’s house? As in Harley, your grandfather?”
“Yes. His house and Bruce’s.” I frown and step forward. “You didn’t know that?”
“No. I…” He shakes his head. “I knew Harley’s husband’s name was Bruce, but I didn’t make the connection between this Bruce and that one.”
He’s dressed perfectly for dinner at my grandparents' house. He’s in scuffed, but clean, brown work boots, blue jeans, and a T-shirt under an open light flannel shirt. His dark brown hair is cut short and slightly mussed on top, and he’s clean-shaven. He’s probably about six-two or three and trim with broad shoulders and thick biceps.
He looks just as good as he did in that uniform he’d been wearing when I met him in June.
“So, you just met Bruce? Randomly? Separate from Harley?”
“Well, yes. I mean it was?—”
“You’re finally here!” my dad exclaims from the open door.
We both turn to look at him.
“And Josh! You made it.”
“Hi,” JD greets with a smile.
“Josh?” I ask.
“My name’s Josh. I only go by JD at work.”
Ah. Okay.
And my dad knows him, too. This is such a weird coincidence.
“Thanks for the invite,” JD—Josh—says, smiling broadly at my dad.
“I see you two met,” my dad says, stepping onto the porch and motioning for us to come inside.
“Yes. Previously.” Josh turns and motions for me to precede him up the steps.
“And how do you know J—Josh?” I ask Dad.
“We met at the hospital when we were visiting your sister,” Dad says, taking the container Josh is carrying and starting for the kitchen.
They met Josh at the hospital?
That’s…random.
But I think I understand what’s going on here.
Josh and I pause in the foyer to kick off our shoes. I brace my hand against the wall and say softly, “I’m really sorry about this,” as I lift a foot to untie my tennis shoe.
“About what?”
“Them talking you into this dinner.”
“They didn’t talk me into it. I was happy to be invited,” he said, setting his boots side by side next to the rows of other shoes.
He must not know what this is. He must think this is about Harley. This is so embarrassing.
I toe off my other tennis shoe and look down. I’m in leggings and a polo shirt from my PT clinic. My hair is in a ponytail, and I’m sure the little bit of makeup I put on this morning is worn off by now. IknowI have nothing on my lips, and I definitely didn’t bother with eye makeup. It’s a physical therapy clinic. People come to me hurt and sick. They don’t care if I’m glammed up.
