“Carrie, you didn’t have to,” I tell her, choking up.
“I know I didn’t. I wanted to. I’m happy to help. I know things are tight for you, and honestly, Wren, you’ve been through it. You’ve had a lot of shit roll downhill to you, and this isn’t much in the grand scheme of things.”
“You do this almost every time that you visit.”
She shrugs. “I can afford to, and I want to. I know if I were in your shoes, you would do the same.” She folds up the tote and shoves it into her purse. “Now, get your ass over here and eat with me. I miss my best friend. Tell me all the things,” she says, grabbing her sandwich and coffee and settling on the couch. My apartment is too small for a dining room table, and the galley kitchen is too small for one as well.
My stomach grumbles from hunger, but my best friend, being the rock star that she is, ignores it when I take a seat next to her, sandwich and coffee in hand. I take a bite of my sandwich—bacon, egg, and cheese on a bagel—and it’s the best thing I’ve eaten in weeks. In between bites, I tell her about Madeline being sick and the stranger yesterday at the pharmacy.
“Wren, you know I can float you—” she starts, but I stop her.
“I get paid today, and my health insurance kicks in on Monday. It was just a bad time and a tough spot.”
“You should have called me.”
“I would have. I didn’t have time to. He just stepped up and said to pay it forward someday. Then I found he dropped cash into the bag when he handed it to me.”
“Wow. Was he wearing a ring?” she jokes.
“I was too embarrassed to look,” I tell her honestly. “Anyway, I’m going to look him up when I get to work on Monday and try to find him. I need to return the money.”
“You need it.”
“I know, but I’m not his responsibility.”
“How are you going to find him? Did he give you a name?” She doesn’t respond to my comment. She knows me well enough to know that my mind is made up.
“He said his name was Marshall Riggins.” As soon as his name is out of my mouth, she chokes on the last bite of the sandwich she just shoved into her mouth. “You all right?” I ask her.
“Yes. Wren, do you not recognize that name?”
“No. Should I?”
She stands and goes to her purse she left on the kitchen counter and walks back to take her seat on the couch. The entire time her fingers are flying across the screen of her cell phone. “Marshall Riggins is one of the Riggins brothers. Riggins Enterprises?” she asks.
“Oh. Yeah, that’s the big building downtown, right? What do they do anyway?” I ask her.
“They’re in logistics. They coordinate trucks and deliveries all over the world.”
“So Marshall? He owns the business?” I ask.
She nods, grinning wildly. “He does, with his four brothers. They’re all hot as hell.”
“Yeah, he was easy on the eyes.”
“I thought you weren’t looking?” she teases.
“I looked enough,” I confess.
“Well, hold onto your panties because this is Marshall and his brothers.” She turns her phone screen to show me, and sure enough, the handsome stranger from yesterday is in the photo with four other guys who all have similar features.
“Wow.”
“Right? It says that Marshall is the youngest of the five and the only single one left.”
“Don’t start,” I tell her.
“Hey, I’m just saying. You’re young and you’re beautiful. What happened to Travis was tragic, but you have to keep living. Live for him, and for her.” She points to the swing. “Speaking of my niece, can I get some snuggles?”
“Have at it.”
She stands and lifts Madeline from her swing and snuggles her close. “Hey, sweetie,” she says softly. Madeline babbles at her, and my heart swells. I’m so glad she’s feeling better, and I thank God every single day that he brought my best friend into my life. She’s been my rock. She was there when I lost my dad, and she was with me when I lost Travis. I know that I wouldn’t have made it this far without her and her kind heart.
Chapter 3
Marshall
“The numbers are good,” Owen says. “The new marketing campaign has definitely increased our client list. All locations are above where they were last year,” he explains.
“That’s because our little brother is a marketing genius.” Royce nods toward me.
“Keep ’em coming,” I tease, motioning him to keep the compliments rolling in. All four of my brothers laugh.
“I’m surprised you’re not recording him saying that,” Conrad muses.
“That’s because I already did.” Reaching for my phone that’s sitting on the table, I pull up the video of Royce in his office a couple of weeks ago telling me that same thing.
“I should have known.” Conrad shakes his head at my antics.
Before I can reply, there’s a knock at the conference room door. We all turn to look to see Layla standing just inside the doorway. “Sorry to interrupt. Marsh, you have a visitor.”
“I’m not expecting anyone. Is there a meeting I forgot about?” I ask her as I pull out my phone to check my calendar.
“N-No. No meeting.” She shakes her head. “I normally wouldn’t interrupt, but well, I think you need to come with me.”
“Babe?” Owen stands.
“It’s fine,” Layla assures her husband. “I just don’t think that Marshall wants to keep this one waiting.” She gives me a look I can’t decipher as I stand from the conference table.
“We’re done here anyway. If you stay any longer, your head’s not going to make it out the door,” Royce teases.
“It’s not my fault I got all the brains,” I quip as I follow Layla out of the conference room and down the hall to her desk, which is also the reception area. As soon as I turn the corner, I freeze when I see the woman from the pharmacy last night.
“Hi.” She waves.
I take her in, and she seems to be more rested than yesterday, and the baby she’s swinging back and forth in her seat isn’t crying. Stepping forward, I crouch down so I’m eye level with the baby. “Hey, sweet girl, are you feeling better?” I ask her.
“She is. Thank you for that. Now that I know where you work, I can repay you.”
I stand back to my full height. “I told you that’s not necessary. Pay it forward one day when you see someone in need.”
She nods and places the baby and the seat on the floor, then digs in the diaper bag and thrusts her hand out toward me. “I believe this is yours.”
I don’t have to look into that white envelope to know that it’s the extra cash I snuck into the bag. The baby begins to fuss, so instead of taking the money, I lift the seat into my arms and begin to rock her. “That’s yours,” I tell her.
“It’s not.” She shakes her head adamantly. “I appreciate the gesture, but I can’t accept this.”
“It’s a gift.”