To make matters worse, the gorgeous white shirt I was wearing when I arrived—one I’d chosen because it perfectly showcases everything my mama gave me—is now covered in what looks like a combination of blue cheese sauce, buffalo wing grease, and potentially a side of guac. None of which can be fixed with a quick dab job in the bathroom.
I’m standing by the kitchen sink, busying myself with the accumulated dishes, when a round-bellied Skye walks in, carrying a tray now devoid of the wings. “You need to come to every BBQ, Dee. Seriously, your food is amazing. If I had any room in this tummy, I’d be begging you to make some more.”
I fold the kitchen towel over the rail of her beautiful freestanding oven range and grin over my shoulder. “With a kitchen like this, you’ll be able to whip up gourmet feasts yourself soon.” I nod at her belly. “After you’ve mastered the whole new-mum thing, of course.”
“Yeah. That’ll be a while I think. I’ve still got a few months to go,” she says with a laugh. She walks around the huge kitchen island and stops in front of me. “So, I’m gonna be blunt, ’cause that’s who I am, but also, you know I want to see my friends happy, right?”
I hold my breath, her expression unreadable as I brace myself for a ‘don’t hurt Rhodes’s speech.
Her eyes drop to my shirt. “You need to come with me so we can raid my pre-pregnancy closet and fix up this mess. ’Cause I have it on good authority that Marco, Renee, Jake, and Rhodes are ten minutes away, and as much as that mess you’ve made is adorable, it’s not saying ‘Date me. I’m a catch.’ Besides, I know the Lieutenant well and I’m sure we can find something clean that will get his firehose pumping—so to speak.”
My mouth drops open at her candor, but I’m thankful, because I may have looked well put together when I arrived, but my passion for cooking means I’m now more of a hot mess than a hot blind date.
A few minutes later, we’re shut behind Skye and Cohen’s guest room door and standing in front of a wide double closet filled to the brim with clothes. Skye waves her arm out. “My closet is your closet. It’s not like I’ll be wearing any of this stuff anytime soon. By the way, your video today was hilarious.”
I jut a hip and paint on my best TV presenter smile. “You mean ‘What Not to Eat Before a Date?’ I was going for funny, entertaining, and informative.”
“Well, you definitely succeeded there. Cohen wondered what the hell I was cackling about.”
I give a fake bow. “Pleased to be of service. And holy smokes. This closet is amazing.” I look over my shoulder at Skye. “Do you want to be my sister-wife? Seriously, I’d take a walk on the polyamory side for your wardrobe.”
Skye steps forward and starts flicking through her hangers. “Something tells me your living situation is complicated enough without adding wife-sharing to the mix.”
“Probably true. But I wouldn’t say it’s complicated . . . Maybe just a little different and unexpected.”
She pulls out a white low-cut shirt in one hand and a bright red sleeveless one in the other, her eyes switching between it and me before she shakes her head and puts it back, replacing it with an almost sheer black shirt and nodding to herself. “Unexpected is right. But I respect you and your ex-husband so much for it. I’ve never met him, but Ezra speaks highly of him.”
“Ezra speaks highly of Rhodes too.” I wasn’t planning to garner information from Skye, but now that she’s opened the door, I’m damn well walking inside.
Skye shoots me a wry grin. “Finally! I was starting to think you’d never ask. We’ve only got five minutes, so we’ll have to go with as many questions as possible, rapid-fire style. If I know it, I’ll answer. And while we’re doing that, I’m going to take my growing cankles and sit down on this bed while you choose between prim and proper and a hint of saucy minx underneath,” she says, handing me a white shirt. “Or hot-blooded single woman who’s confident, sexy, and putting myself out there with this black one.”
I shake my head and look between the two tops, knowing exactly which one is more my style, as Skye crosses the room and gets comfortable on the mattress.
I hang the white one back on the rail and start working the buttons of my ruined shirt. “Okay. Is he a serial killer?”
Skye’s head jerks back, a smirk curving her lips. “Unexpected opener. I like it, but nope. Not to my knowledge.”
“Is he a stalker?”
Skye’s brows bunch together. “He’s rather enamored with a certain YouTube food vlogger, but nope. No stalking in his history. He’s new to this dating thing—as in, a newborn.”
That’s surprising. His flirting the other day was far from rusty.
“But the important thing of note is that you’re the first person to capture his interest in the past few years.”
“Good to know we’re on a level playing field then.” I slip the black shirt over my shoulders and turn to face the mirror as I do it up.
“You really are. He’s a single dad, and you’re a single mom, who just happens to live with her ex-husband and have a weirdly healthy, productive, and civil relationship with him.”
“Flynn and I didn’t end our marriage because we didn’t love each other.”
“You just weren’t in
