Something about Nora is more addictive than I thought. After our one-night stand—even though I hate calling it that—I didn’t give myself a second to think about what we’d done. I just chastised myself for having sex with her, given who her best friend is, and tried to forget about it. But now that I’ve faced what we did—and even though there’s still guilt, I realized that in the grand scheme of things, I didn’t do anything wrong—I can’t seem to stop myself from thinking about it, or from gravitating toward her.
“So, tell me how the party planning is going.”
“Disastrous.” I blow out a harsh breath. “The Chance siblings had a huge blowout yesterday in the midst of party planning.”
“What do you mean by ‘blowout’?”
“Oh, you know, pointing out what’s wrong with each other, why we don’t get along—classic sibling things.”
She winces. “Sounds painful.”
“It was.” Even though I said no touching, I gently lift a lock of her wet hair and twist it around my finger. “It was less than ideal to hear about how my brother thinks I fail at everything and for my sister to tell me I don’t care about anything but myself.”
“She said that?”
“In a roundabout way. Honestly, it was as if we took each other’s flaws, elevated them, and threw them in each other’s faces.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I don’t know, honestly. I was really fucking angry because they assumed I don’t care about the party, when I do—I just don’t care about making it fancy. I care about honoring Mom and Dad. They’re also mad at me because I helped our parents decide to move and sell the house. But Ford and Palmer aren’t here day to day—they don’t see how much Mom and Dad have been struggling with the house.”
Nora places her hand on my thigh in a soothing away. I allow it.
“My mom told me you’re over there all the time. Fixing things, watching YouTube videos to help you through the process.” She chuckles. “I thought that was kind of cute, picturing you watching a video while attempting to put together a shelf or something.”
I smirk. “Yeah, not quite the handyman you might think I am. And Dad’s strength in his hands has faltered. Over the last few years, he’s needed more and more help around the house. He claims he doesn’t want to spend the money on hiring someone to help when he has me, but I know that’s just a farce. He doesn’t want people to know.”
“Know what?” Nora asks softly.
I sigh. “We knew something was happening with Dad, but it wasn’t until a few years ago that he was actually diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease. I was there, at the appointment with Mom and Dad. I can still hear the almost silent cry from my mom and see the deflated bow to Dad’s shoulders when the doctor told us the bad news. Mom and Dad held hands and stayed quiet while I asked questions. They pretty much did anything to ignore the fact that he was sick. He’s a proud man, my dad, and he doesn’t want people on the island to know, to see him weathered and worn. It’s why he colors so much, because he wants to try to stay in tune with his fine motor skills as much as he can.”
“I had no idea. Do Palmer and Ford know?”
I nod. “Yes, my parents told them over a phone conference, but Mom and Dad downplayed it. Of course, Palmer and Ford don’t see the daily deterioration that I’ve seen. It’s the main reason I want them out of that big house. Dad needs a simple place to live where everything is taken care of and he can just focus on enjoying his retirement, you know?”
“Makes sense. Having a huge house like that is probably hard to keep up.”
“Especially since I’m the only one he’ll call for help. But there’s this YouTuber who’s all about fixing things around the house—he and I have become well acquainted.”
“Do you wear a tool belt when you’re acting like Mr. Fix It?” she asks, her eyes turning dark.
“Nah, just a towel like this.”
“Kinky, I like it. Bet your dad really likes it when your towel parts just right.”
I quirk an eyebrow at her. “What is wrong with you?”
“Not sure.” She chuckles. “But you were the one who brought up the towel. Maybe we’re both deranged.”
“Maybe we are.” I look her in the eyes. “So are we not going to address the elephant in the room?”
“The fact that we’ve had sex? You already brought that up. I thought we were over it.”
So not over that.
I would very much like to revisit that.
I would very much like to take Nora out on a date. To let her know this isn’t just a one-night-stand thing to me; this is so much more.
But that’s not what I was referencing.
“We already touched upon the sex thing—I’m talking about Dealia.”
“What about her?” Nora asks casually.
“She was there at the shop the other day . . . it was awkward.”
“That it was, wasn’t it? Love invigorating moments like that, don’t you? They get your blood pumping, remind you that you’re alive.”
“Moments like that also make your scrotum turn inside out in horror.” Took me a few hours to beg the poor guy to come back down.
Her head falls back as she laughs. Hell, what I wouldn’t give to move my lips along her neck right now, to taste her skin, to make my way to her lips.
“If I knew your balls shriveled up in my shop, I would have taken you to the back to blow them back up to the right size.”
I play along. “And how exactly would you do that?”
“Blowing on your penis, of course.”
Of course.
Just like that.
Jesus.
I swallow hard. “Now that wouldn’t have made things extremely awkward.”
“It would have been a conversational moment, for sure.”
I raise an eyebrow at her casual response. “Aren’t you worried about Dealia?”
“Are you?”
“She’s my ex-wife. I worry a little. Even though things ended badly, I still wouldn’t want her feelings to get hurt.”
Nora smooths her hand over my chest. “I think she’s fine.”
“How can you be so sure?”
Nora sits up on her knees and then straddles my lap, her hands falling to my shoulders. “Because, I talked to her about it.”
“You . . . you what?” I ask, my stomach bottoming out. “You told her we slept together?”
“Yup.” She smirks.
“And what the hell did she say?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
FORD
“Are you sure?” I ask my mom over the phone. “I can come and get you.”
“No, not necessary. We’re having a lovely time with Tom and Linda. And we don’t want you driving in this weather.”
I glance toward Palmer’s room, which is empty. The reason I know this is because I went to ask her if she wanted to eat dinner with Larkin and me, extending an olive branch, and after a while of knocking, I opened her room to see that she wasn’t there.
“Have you heard from Palmer?” I ask.