To Blakely,
Keep howling at the moon.
You deserve every bit of this.
—Slade
“Slade?” Minka asks.
I nod and read it again. “Yeah.”
“God, you’re so lucky. I wish Jared looked at me the way Slade looks at you.”
The lump in my throat grows even bigger.
I look up and smile at her. “I’m a lucky girl.” But the words sound a little shakier than I intend them to sound.
Because it hits me how damn much I care for Slade.
Not care for, who am I kidding? Love.
I bite the bullet and admit it to myself.
I think I’ve gone and fallen for Slade.
Jesus, even I know how stupid that sounds.
If he knew, he would run the other way.
It’s the kind of emotion that people will tell me I’m crazy for feeling so quickly.
But it’s true.
I pick up my phone and call him, but he doesn’t pick up. Within seconds my phone alerts a text.
Slade: Everything ok? I can’t pick up.
Me: Yes. I’m fine. Thank you for my flowers. They’re gorgeous.
Slade: You deserve them.
Me: How did you know peonies were my favorite? I love them.
Slade: They are? Good guess then. But isn’t that just how things are with us?
Me: Strangely yes. See you Friday.
Slade: I’ll be there with bells on.
I laugh because I don’t put it past him to actually wear bells. Staring at our texts, all I can think is how right his comment is about knowing peonies are my favorite.
It’s just how things are with us.
Slade
“I’m confused,” I say when I open the front door, bleary-eyed and craving my bed more than my half-eaten pasta sitting on the counter. “I thought you were here and then left already, swearing to never come back.”
My mom’s smile widens as she steps inside and presses a kiss to my cheek. “You look exhausted,” she says and breezes past me like she owns the place. “How come you look like you’re working when you’re still not working?”
“Um . . . what are you doing here?” I ask as I stand at the door and stare after her. I still have my scrub pants on, but my shirt off, and I have a half-drank beer in my hand.
“I told you I had to come back for Aunt Millie’s surgery. Don’t worry”—she looks over her shoulder—“I’m not staying here.” She stops in her tracks and looks down the hallway and then back to me, eyes wide, and mouth open in shock. “I’m not interrupting anything am I?”
It takes me a second to get her gist. “No. God. Mom.” I sigh her name out. “The only thing you’re interrupting is my five precious hours of sleep. I’m so tired I couldn’t even do that if I tried.”
“Do that?” She giggles as she rounds the countertop and looks in my bowl before heading to the fridge. “It’s called sex, honey, and I’m more than aware you have it.”
“This conversation is wrong on so many levels.” I sink down into my seat and resume eating. It’s cold now, but I don’t have the energy to make anything different.
But when I look up, my mom is already cutting up lettuce and tomatoes and making a salad. “You need veggies,” she says. “All those carbs aren’t healthy.”
“Thanks for the nutrition lesson,” I grumble.
“Would you rather we chat about why you’ve been avoiding my calls?” she asks as if she’s Mary Freaking Poppins.
“I’ve been working. I’m not back on call yet, but like I told you, I’m helping Schultz out—trying to get in his good graces—and you know how much I love doing mindless bullshit.”
“Mindless, yes, but at least you aren’t pulling twenty-four-hour shifts.”
“I kind of am, though, trying to get my body back in the swing of things on the off chance I get reinstated soon.”
“It must be why you’re a bowl full of sunshine.”
I glare at her. “Why are you here?”
“You’re avoiding me.”
She’s right. I am.
“No, I’m not.”
“You never ignore my texts.” I give her one of those you-have-to-be-kidding-me looks. “Well, you ignore them but not this way.”
“And what way is that?” I ask around a bite of pasta.
“In the way where you don’t give me an inkling of how your camping trip went.”
“Is that why you’re here?” I laugh. “You want to get in my business?”
Christ.
“That Glam girl you went with. What’s her name again?”
My eyes flash up. Narrow. “What do you mean Glam girl?”
“I was checking your Instagram and saw someone tag you from your retreat. It said something about it being Glam and all kinds of those weird pound sign things after it.”
“Hashtags.”
“Yes. Those. I always forget their new name.”
“That’s beside the point. Your stalking, meddling . . . annoying abilities really need to take a back seat.”
“I wasn’t stalking. I just happened to see it.” She waves a hand at me. “What was her name again?”
“Who? You mean, Blakely?”
“Yes. Such a pretty name. And talk about beautiful. Classic and sophisticated looking all at the same time.”
My mother is stalking my love life through Instagram. It doesn’t get any worse than this.
“Yes, she’s something else.”
And hell if that isn’t the goddamn truth.
“Well, Lane said—”
“Lane?” I bark out my cousin’s name. I’m going to kill the fucker as soon as I remember what I actually told him. I’ve been in my head so much these past two weeks that I’m kind of foggy on what I said and what I simply thought. “Please, tell me what you and Lane discussed.” I cross my arms across my chest and lean back in my chair.
“He just said you really had a good time. That you really liked her.”
“Uh-huh.” I draw the word out as I take a sip from my bottle of beer. “And your point?”
“My point is nothing. It just isn’t like you not to at least say something to me about a woman you go out with.”
“Yeah. Normally, I just say some shit to push your buttons.”
“Exactly, but this time, you’ve said absolutely nothing.”
“Mom, I’m tired. Can you just stop beating around the bush and get to why
