Page 7 of Better Hate than Never

“And one hand healthy enough to be profane in my hallway, so it’s surely healthy enough to clean some plates.”

Kate glares daggers at me as I throw her a smug smile.

“And you,” Maureen says sternly as Kate stomps off into the kitchen.

My smile dissolves. “Me?”

“You’ve got enough energy to provoke Kate. You’ll have plenty to handle being on dish duty, too.”

I gape as she leaves me standing at the threshold.

—

“You’re a true gentleman, West.”

Bea’s boyfriend—Westas everyone but Bea calls him—stands beside me at the sink while we tackle dinner dishes. He gives meanit’s nothingwave of his hand. “I’m happy to help clean up. And I meant it when I said you can call me Jamie. I’d actually prefer it.”

I peer his way, noticing how much more relaxed and happier he seems since I first met him earlier in the fall, when we struck up a fast, easy friendship. “You’re sure?”

He throws me a wry glance. “I’m sure.”

The tight-lipped man, with his starched shirts and serious demeanor, who introduced himself as West just a few months ago is nowhere to be seen. Now he’s Jamie Westenberg—casually rolled-up sleeves and loose-limbed contentment as we share dish duty at the double sink.

His mouth crooks at the corner as he dries a just-rinsed saucepan and notices me inspecting him. “What is it?”

“You just seem... good. You seem happy.”

The crook at the corner of his mouth becomes a full-on smile. “I am. Very glad for a holiday spent with people who actuallyfeellike family rather than my family, which most certainly does not. That’s what got me thinking about what name I use, what made me say it over dessert—I don’t want to use West anymore. It’s a name that I got at boarding school, and I’ve used it like... armor, to keep people at a distance. I don’t want that armor anymore.”

“We all need our armor. There’s nothing wrong with needing distance.”

“From people who aren’t worthy of our closeness,” he concedes. “Boundaries are one of my favorite things, trust me. But I don’t want this boundary with the people I care about. That’s why I want to be Jamie, not just with Bea, but with all the people who matter to me. You’re one of them.”

“Well, I’m honored, Wes—I mean, Jamie.” After a beat, I give him a look, wiggling my eyebrows. “Have we just taken our bromance to a whole new level?”

He laughs. “Damn right, we have. It was written in the stars,Bea says. Not that I put much stock in astrology or the zodiac, but I’ll admit the more Bea foists it on me, the more compelling some of it is.”

“I’m not very knowledgeable about it. What’s the gist?”

“Well,” he says, “take the two of us. I’m a Capricorn. You’re a Taurus. Those born under those signs have a number of diverging traits but also fundamental compatibilities—both are Earth signs who align along core values such as dependability, stability, and pragmatism.”

I chuckle. “I can already hear rebel-child Bea explaining all of this to you and saying that, in short, we’re a snoozefest.”

Jamie chuckles, too. “We are, in her words, ‘inclined to be protective, practical—albeit deeply lovable—stick-in-the-muds.’ ”

“Well, someone has to have it together and keep things in order.”

He nods. “Couldn’t agree more. Which is why you’re stuck with me and this astrologically ordained bromance. I’m in it for the long haul.”

“Makes two of us.” With no extended family living remotely close to me and my antipathy for romantic entanglements, friendships are the only kind of long-term relationship I have or allow myself. I value them deeply.

Refocusing on the dishes we’re surrounded by, I pick up the pan that the turkey was roasted in and plunge it into the soapy water. “Thanks again for helping out here,” I tell him. “You really didn’t have to.”

“I don’t mind helping. Though, judging by how tense things seemed during dinner, I have a hunch you’re thanking me less for the dish-duty assistance and more for the fact that my insistence on taking Kate’s place means she’s out there while you’re in here.”

I stare down at the greasy, crusted baking pan and focus onscrubbing the hell out of it. “She’s got an arm in a sling. She wouldn’t be much help.”

“Mm-hmm.” He sets down the saucepan he was drying and picks up the next rinsed pot from his side of the double sink.

---