“But are you still angry? Do you forgive her?”
“It’s hard to answer that. I’ve moved on, obviously. And to be honest, I don’t think about her all that often.” I’m too damn busy. “But I also haven’t had a serious relationship since Trace, so…do I forgive her?” She gave it some thought, sorting through the tangle of emotions in the box she rarely opened. “Not really, no. But it’s not like I blame her entirely. I blame myself for having such bad judgement in men. I trusted Trace.”
“And you trusted Stella.”
“Right.” After the rehearsal dinner, Stella had begged her to understand that she’d been drunk, desperate to save Lulu from a bad marriage, but it hadn’t mattered. Stella had flirted, and Trace had jumped right in. That kiss…he hadn’t held anything back.
She sifted sand through her fingers. “The thing is…I don’t trust myself.” She’d never admitted this to anyone before. “You all saw Trace for what he was, and I didn’t. The whole town saw. God, every time I come home, I dread the way people are going to look at me.”
“Well, let’s see. Mrs. McCoony’s husband ran off with the nanny. Tongues were wagging for weeks. Remember Jason Everett? That guy who installed speakers at Mom and Dad’s house? Well, he stole from his clients—just a little thing here and there—to support his kid’s soccer dreams. Oh, and Candi Evans farted during a town hall meeting. They still talk about that one.”
“Did she really?”
“Oh, yeah. It was the fart heard all around the valley. Apparently, she stood up to argue about the new development off Featherlegs Lane, and she got about five sentences into her speech, when she let one rip so loud it woke up Cammie Barrett’s baby.”
Laughing, Lulu tipped her head back to take in a sky brilliant with glittering stars. “Oh, my God, I would have died.”
Both their phones buzzed. Lulu and Gigi looked at each, and at the same time said, “Mom.”
Chapter Two
Mom: Since there’s no reason to stay any longer, we’re leaving first thing in the morning. We want to be home if Coco goes into labor.
A second later, her mom sent another text to Lulu only.
Mom: do you want to come back with us on the jet since you have a meeting next week anyway? We can close out your house later.
Lulu glanced out at the dark ocean, lacy white crests surging toward the shore.
And here I thought I’d fallen as low as I could go.
Lulu: already got out of my lease and sold my furniture.
With her decent chef de cuisine salary, she’d rented a lovely cottage right near the beach. She’d plastered images of it all over Splashagram, so her family and friends had all seen it.
Mom: where have you been living????
Jesus, take the wheel. Her mom was going to love this one.
Lulu: the owner of the taco truck’s been letting me live in his guest bedroom.
Mom: you’re breaking my heart. I don’t understand any of this. I wish you’d told me. You could’ve stayed in our house. It’s been empty this whole time.
Lulu: I know. Sure, I’ll come home with you tomorrow. See you in the morning.
Cassian approached them, his bare feet kicking out sand. “Got your mom’s text.” He leaned in and kissed Gigi on the mouth. “You ready to head back to the house?”
It awed her how unabashedly in love this powerful, gorgeous man was with her sister.
“Sure.” Gigi got up and wiped her shorts. When Lulu didn’t join her, she said, “Aren’t you coming?” She glanced over to the loud and wild football players and the entourage they’d gathered.
“Well, let’s see.” Lulu lifted one palm as if weighing something. “Party with strangers…” She lifted the other. “Or go with you and get into it with mom?”
Gigi laughed. “Yeah, that’s a tough one.”
She definitely didn’t want to hang out with a bunch of strangers, and she’d deal with her mom on the jet tomorrow, so that left one choice. “I have to pack, so I’ll just go home.” She got up, shook out the blanket, and folded it loosely.
“I’ll walk you,” Cassian said.
“Oh, no.” Ha. Big Eddie didn’t live anywhere near this ritzy neighborhood. “I’ve got a car. I’m fine. Don’t worry.” She got up.
“Okay,” Cassian said. “See you in the morning.”
Gigi leaned over and hugged her sister. “I love you so much, and I’m glad you’re coming home.”
“Love you, too.”
“Hey, hey, hey.” A big, beefy guy jogged over. “You’re not takin’ the taco lady with you, are you?”
“We’ve got an early flight.” Cassian gestured to Lulu. “And the ‘taco lady’ has a name. Lulu, meet Ryker, the best wide receiver in the NFL.”
“Nice to meet you, Ryker.”
His giant hand swallowed hers up. “Those were the best damn tacos I’ve had in my life.”
“Well, I’m glad you—”
“Tacos?” Another guy joined them. “You makin’ tacos?”
A teammate jogged over, carrying a bikini-clad woman on his back. “I’m down for tacos.”
When half the group joined them, Gigi waved her hands. “The taco truck’s closed. If you’re hungry, Cassian and I stocked the kitchen. You should be set for the week, and if you run out, we left a bunch of menus on the counter. Go for it.”
“But I want tacos.” Ryker pointed a finger at Lulu. “Her tacos.”
“I never even got one,” one of the guys said.
“Well, whose fault is that?” Ryker gave the giant man a pointed look.
“He was eatin’ another kind of taco,” someone said.
“The juicy kind.” The giant laughed.
“Hey.” One of the guys pushed forward and smacked both men on the backs of their heads. “Knock it off.” He was different than the others. Not as thick, he had lean, hard muscle.
“Yeah,” Ryker said. “Not cool, man.”
While Lulu had heard plenty worse and didn’t need anyone protecting her delicate ears, she still appreciated the lack of tolerance for that kind of talk. She turned to Cassian and her sister. “Did you guys buy tortillas?”
He nodded. “But you don’t have to cook for them.”
Lulu could go back to Big Eddie’s and pack, replaying her mom’s expression when she found out Lulu had been fired, or she could cook. “I don’t mind. Won’t take long.”
Gigi gave her a look that said, You sure?
“Positive. Go.”
As her sister and Cassian turned to walk down the beach, Lulu led the way to the rental house.
“You need help?” Ryker asked.
“What does she want help from your ass for?” someone said.
“I cook,” Ryker said. “I could be her sous chef.”
“You make one dish. And it’s your momma’s recipe.”
Reaching for the handle of the French door, she said, “I’ll let you know when they’re ready.”