Kaylee’s face falls. If we weren’t walking at a decent tempo, I’d pull her into a hug.
Lord knows she needs it.
“You’re better off without him, you know,” I say quietly.
She nods but doesn’t say anything.
“Any man who would leave their wife—especially you—and their child on a whim—”
“Let’s be real,” she says, her face now dangerously crimson. “Derrick left me—us—for a younger woman. Let’s call it what it is.”
I cringe and drop my gaze to my sneakers. I’m not that friend—the one who knows what helps soothes these sorts of wounds. But I do know that Derrick was a total asswipe to do what he did to Kaylee. She’s one of the kindest people I know, and the fact that she’s hurting slices my heart in two.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m not good at knowing what to say in situations like these. I try to be helpful, but …”
Kaylee’s shoulder bumps mine. When I look up, her face is a more normal color, and she’s smiling. At least a little.
“You, my friend, have nothing to be sorry for,” she says. “You weren’t the vile hussy screwing my husband in the back of his Corolla.”
“Because I have standards. I’d at least choose a Mercedes.”
Or a big, black Chevrolet.
My feet falter as said truck roars toward us. I think in order to make that sound, the driver has to hit the gas hard or something. I don’t know how it works. I just know that when Kaylee and I reach the apex of the hill, and the Chevy comes into view, the engine makes a deep, throttle-y sound that zips right through my blood.
It might’ve been from the sound.
And it might’ve been because I know who’s driving.
A large palm flips up into a subtle wave over the steering wheel as the truck zooms by. I wave, too, before darting my eyes back in front of me, lest I turn around and actually watch him from behind.
Good grief, Haley. It’s his truck, not his ass.
Kaylee laughs.
“What?” I ask, looking up at her.
“Come on, Haley.”
“Come on, what?” I twist my lips so I can’t smile. “Do you want to go to Bela’s for a cupcake?”
She laughs again. “While I do love your affection for cupcakes and find it amusing that you pressured me for a walk today and now offer cupcakes as a distraction, I’ll pass on the dessert … and focus on the reason you’re trying to distract me.”
My gaze drops back to my shoes again.
I spent all of last night trying to distract myself.
I mulled it over—and over and over—trying to decide how I felt about my impromptu proposal at Fireside. Should I be embarrassed? Humiliated? Proud of myself for thinking on my feet?
Despite hours playing that game, while also playing Mahjong, I came up with nothing.
I don’t know how to feel.
It was initiated by desperation. That much is clear. I sat with my manuscript open while I played a game on my phone because I was unable to determine how Casper Jenkins sounded. In my head, he speaks almost lyrically. But when I put my fingers on the keyboard, he comes out gruff. Moody. Difficult.
He sounds a whole heck of a lot like Grayson, but I’ll never admit that to anyone.
“So,” Kaylee prods. “Wanna tell me what that flirty wave you just exchanged with Grayson Blake was all about?”
“I don’t know. A hello? Good morning? A small-town greeting?” I shrug. “Didn’t you wave back? I’m sure he was waving at both of us. Look at you being rude.”
She grins. “He wasn’t waving at me, and we both know it.”
I try really hard not to smile.
“Derrick swore up and down that Grayson had a thing for you,” Kaylee says, smugly. “I thought he was projecting his obsession for younger women onto Grayson, but now I think that maybe he was onto something.”
“He. Waved. At. Me—us.”
She wags a finger in the air. “Nope. He was in Cherry Pie Pizza a few days ago, and Rueben Cantal mentioned you—something about a drink you made him at Fireside. You should’ve seen Grayson’s ears turn around. He looked like he could independently control them.”
“Stop it,” I say, blinking rapidly.
“And then we were both at Pearl’s just yesterday, and you drove by. Let me tell you that he followed your car with his eyes all the way down Love Lane.”
“You are out of your mind.”
We slow our pace as we take a right onto Wishing Lane.
My head spins with the comments—observations that probably aren’t true or are embellished in her brain—because she needs that to Band-Aid over the hurt in her heart over Derrick. She needs to be wrapped up in some other love story.
That sounds nice.
Too bad, it won’t be mine.
“Look, Grayson Blake is …” I begin, but my voice dissipates into thin air.
I don’t know how to finish that—not without looking like an obsessed, hopeless romantic. And, while I am a hopeless romantic, I am not obsessed with the town mechanic.
I know better.
“He’s fine as hell,” Kaylee offers.
“Good. Use him as your rebound.”
As soon as I say it, I kick myself. I’d be happy for Kaylee. She deserves a guy like Grayson but seeing my friend with him—kissing and touching and all that jazz—would make me green with envy. And green does not look good on me.
“I’m not rebounding,” she says with a laugh. “I have a teenage daughter to think about. What would it look like to her if I started sleeping around?”
“Uh, I don’t know. Like you’re a woman. A human. That you’re enjoying the company of a male while not in a monogamous marriage—which seems like a very practical stance to take considering what her father pulled.”
She rolls her eyes. “I hate when you do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make sense.”
We stop at the intersection of Wishing Lane and Love Lane … and stare at the front of Blake Brother Auto Repair.
Shit.
I feel Kaylee’s gaze burning into the side of my face as she waits for me to decide whether to cross the road—and head straight for Blake Brother—or take a right and continue down Love Lane.
I take a right.
She follows, smirking at my back. I can feel it.
“He hates me,” I call out over the sound of Tristan’s motorcycle as he passes us.
“Who?” Kaylee asks.
“Grayson.”
She scurries to catch up. “He does not hate you, you silly girl.”
“Eh, yeah. I kind of think he does. At least a little bit.”
“Will you stop it?” She grabs my arm. “And slow the heck down, for crying out loud. I’m chubby. And old.”
“You’re thirty.”
“Thirty-eight,” she says, flashing me a smile of relief when I ease up the pace.
“I figured you couldn’t talk if you couldn’t breathe,” I tease.
She shoves my arm, knocking me into the grassy area beside the sidewalk.
We continue down the street in silence. I’m grateful for it because I need a moment to process.
We pass the police department and then the fire department. Kaylee comments about how our emergency staff doesn’t look anything like the guys on the online calendars and how she thinks they hire models, not real emergency personnel. I nod in agreement, but my brain is a block back.