“Boys will be boys,” she says. “I know Tad has a temper. You know your brother has a temper.”
I nod.
“I trust your judgment of Dax. I ran to your defense where he was concerned, and you put me in my place quickly. I was looking after you, but you didn’t need it. You know what you’re doing, Bec. It’s different than what I’d do, but that’s not the point.”
“What would you do?” I ask almost desperately. Then I realize I haven’t filled in the gaps for her like she asked. “If your one-night stand turned into a two-week stand and the ball was in your court and he liked you more than you ever imagined possible but you don’t know what to do because no one has ever liked you that much before—what would you do?”
Her eyebrows climb her forehead as she listens to my run-on question.
“I’d be thrilled,” she answers. “That’s what happened with Tad and me. I was determined to stay single. He fell in love with me in about forty-eight hours.”
“I remember.” I smile. There was so much happiness in my brother’s voice when he called to tell me about Lara, I almost didn’t recognize that it was Tad Stone on the other end of the line. “You were determined to stay single?”
“Yep.”
“And he changed your mind?”
“I regrouped.” She puts a hand on my arm. “After two months. In my head, it was too soon to know, even though I really did know. Now that I look back, there never should’ve been any doubt.” Her smile is genuine and the slightest bit softer thanks to the wine. In her eyes dances the wisdom of a woman who got it right. She has a nine-year marriage and two beautiful kids under her belt. “I was afraid of the unknown. That’s what you’re feeling, Becca.” She loses her smile abruptly and says, “Unless it’s not that. Is he behaving like a jerk?”
“Dax isn’t a jerk. That’s the problem. I’m used to dealing with jerks. He’d be easier to send packing if he treated me like crap. I know how to react when a guy is a flake.” I shake my head. “Dax tossed my playbook out the window. When he brought up the possibility of my coming to Ohio, I was quick to step in and tell him that I wasn’t going. I told him I didn’t want him interfering in my life or with my family. He backed off.”
The women administering our pedicures return with polish colors and Lara and I choose—she goes with pale pink and I choose hot pink. She always was the tame one of the two of us—with nail polish colors anyway. In relationships I’m the one scared of my own shadow. Lara is brave compared to me.
I lower my voice, considering we have an audience now, and lean closer to Lara. “He backed way off. Sex when I say and no more talking about personal matters.”
“And that’s what you want?” she asks, her tone neutral.
“I thought so. I don’t want to live in Ohio. I like Tennessee. I like working for Grand Lark. Being close to my nieces is really nice.”
“My, what a glowing review.” Her voice is playful. “Besides ‘liking’ where you are and it being ‘really nice,’ are you feeling called elsewhere?”
“I don’t know.” I set my wine aside. Heart pounding, I ask her the question that’s been knocking around in my head since last night. “Would you follow a guy you barely know to another state in the hopes that it works out?”
“Depends on how much potential I saw in the guy.” She waggles her ring finger at me. I must look pretty crestfallen, because she pats my arm, consoling me.
“It was the right decision for me to leap in with both feet with your brother, but that doesn’t mean the same reaction would be right for you. There’s only one you, Becca. Only you know if it’s right to answer the call or let it go to voicemail.”
Answer or let it go. I cringe at how final those two choices are.
Lara must pick up on my conundrum because next she says, “You can always try and return the call later.”
“Return it later,” I mumble as hope bursts to life in my chest. “We can finish out the week, and he can leave, and then if I miss him, I can pick it up later.”
The solution is so stupidly simple.
I lift my wineglass, feeling freer, lighter. I was so gummed up in my head, I hadn’t even considered a third choice. Not a yes or no but a maybe.
Oh, how I love maybes.
“Unless he meets someone else when he goes back to Ohio,” Lara says before the wine touches my lips.
I snap my attention to my sister-in-law, who swallows the wine in her mouth before apologetically amending, “Which would be totally okay! Then you’d know it wasn’t meant to be!”
“Would you have been okay leaving Tad in fate’s hands?” I already know the answer. Lara prefers control over her destiny. Her wan smile tells me she absolutely wouldn’t have been okay leaving Tad in fate’s hands.
“If you love something, set it free,” the dark-haired woman at my feet says.
“If it loves you, it’ll come back.” Her blond cohort nods as she carefully paints Lara’s toenails.
“Love,” I murmur, feeling the burdensome weight of all four letters.
“You don’t have to love him to set him free,” Lara says, picking up the dropped ball.
“That’s a relief.”
Love is big and scary and I’m not sure I completely understand it. It looks like obligation and risk. Except for where my brother and sister-in-law are concerned. Then it looks like matrimony and two kids and a household that’s run like a small business.
Yikes.
I don’t know which sounds more terrifying.
FRIDAY MORNING
Dax
I’m up at dark, coffee in hand, when a truck pulls down my rental’s driveway. I watch out the window as Becca’s brother parks and climbs out, and then makes his way toward the house.
I sigh in resignation before I step outside to meet him. I figured it’d come to this.
He’s not boiling over like he was last week, but he ain’t happy with me. Imagine that.
“Morning.” I lift my mug and offer, “Coffee?”
“This isn’t a social visit.” He ascends the steps of the porch slowly. Shoulders pushed back and chin up. Ready to rumble.
I hope I don’t have to hit him.
“I don’t want any trouble, Stone.” To prove my point, I take a seat on one of the rocking chairs and sip my coffee.
He hovers indecisively for a moment before sitting in the rocker next to mine, his gaze on the forest in front of us. After a few minutes of listening to the birds chirping, he says, “I came here to ask you to leave.”
“I figured.”
An indecisive squirrel darts down the tree, then up, then down again.
“What are you doing with my sister?” he asks.
“If you’re asking for specifics, you’re not getting them.”
He grunts in agreement, but we both know that’s not what he’s asking.
“If you’re asking what my intentions are—”
“Are you moving her to Ohio?” His patience must’ve run out. I’m surprised he had any to start with.