Chapter 7 Definitely not my type
Definitely not my type
Zoey
Istabbed the doorbell a second time and added a brisk knock on the purple front door for good measure.
“For the love of God. Keep your pants on. I’m coming,” an irritated voice called from inside.
Yeah, this was probably a mistake. But Laura was a friend.
A new, usually grumpy friend. And I hadn’t seen or heard from her since the news about the accident charges had broken at the town meeting.
So here I was on a sunny Saturday afternoon after emerging from a tornado of work, forgoing laundry at Hazel’s to stick my nose where it didn’t belong.
“What?” Laura demanded, swinging open the front door. She was wearing workout clothes and a scowl. Her silver-blond hair was swept up in a hot-girl, gravity-defying pompadour. Loud rock poured forth from behind her.
“Hi. I have wine,” I said, hefting the bottle.
Laura’s eyes narrowed as she considered me. “Fine. But if you ask me anything stupid like how I’m doing, you leave and I keep the wine.”
“Deal.”
I followed her inside as she spun her wheelchair around and headed deeper into the house.
The living space was cozy and lived-in. After a lifetime of living in Manhattan, spacious living rooms still left me gawking.
There was a tangle of pillows and blankets on the couch and floor from what looked like a family movie night.
Laura’s gigantic bear of a dog, Melvin, was snoring belly up and taking up a significant amount of couch.
There was a mountain of folded laundry sitting at the foot of the stairs just outside the door to Laura’s first-floor bedroom, a recent Bishop Brothers renovation.
The dining room showed the chaotic leftovers of family breakfast, and the kitchen beyond looked as if it had been abandoned mid-mess.
The dishwasher was already running, but there was still a hefty mound of dirty dishes piled next to the sink.
Laura picked her phone off the kitchen counter, and the music cut off mid-howl.
“Where are the kids?” I asked, noting the peace and quiet.
“Isla is babysitting her uncle’s dog while studying with a friend.
She doesn’t know that I know that’s code for making out with a cute, dumb boy.
My cute, dumb boys are both working the afternoon shift at Angelo’s and trying to figure out how to sneak out to the underage bonfire tonight,” Laura said, rummaging through a low cabinet and producing two wineglasses.
“Ahh, the teenage years.”
“Were you a hellion? You look like hellion material,” Laura observed, setting the glasses on the counter and pointing at the magnetic wine opener on the fridge.
“Still am,” I said, making quick work of the cork and pouring two oversize portions of chardonnay.
Her lips quirked. “Me too.”
I slid one of the glasses in front of her. “I’m shocked. Shocked, I say.”
We each took a sip.
“Are you worried about them?”
She looked past me to the collage of family pictures on the wall in the dining room. “Every second of the day since before they were born.”
“I can’t imagine.” I toyed with my necklace, comforting myself with the edges of the disco ball charm.
There had been a time when I’d assumed I’d have a family like everyone else.
But I wasn’t everyone else. Every once in a while, I still got the twinge of regret.
But all I had to do was remind myself how I was barely functioning as an adult on my own.
It was for the best that I wasn’t going to add “responsibility for tiny humans” to my plate.
“But it’s nice seeing them be kids again. As long as I can stay a step ahead of them, of course,” she added.
“They’ve been through a lot,” I observed stupidly.
Of course they’d been through a lot. That was like stepping outside naked in a mid-January blizzard and saying, “Golly, it’s cold.
” I was toeing the line of asking the question she didn’t want to answer.
The stupid question with only equally stupid answers.
We carefully avoided eye contact and both lifted our glasses again.
A pivot was necessary. I rounded the island, turned on the hot water in the sink, and grabbed the bottle of dish soap. “If you had to do it all over again, would you do anything differently during your teenage hellion years?”
“You’re doing my dishes?” Laura asked with suspicion.
“Yep,” I said, shoving the first plate under the water.
“Okay. Fine. You can stay. Until you piss me off.”
“I’m honored,” I said dryly.
We drank and cleaned, chatting about nothing in particular.
I steered clear of any topics related to the latest news on her accident while covertly studying her for any signs of downward spiraling.
Miller’s presence was everywhere from the photos of him on the wall to the military dog tags hanging from the light fixture above the kitchen sink.
“I’m fine, you know,” she said abruptly as I tossed a wad of used paper towels into the garbage can she held for me. “You can report back to everyone else and save me the onslaught of unwelcome drop-ins since I called off work today.”
Laura ran the family-owned general store on the town square and had only recently returned to work full-time. She and her parents had hired a few part-timers to fill in, freeing up the rest of the Bishops, who had been taking turns working shifts.
“You’re entitled to a day off. Although it is kind of pathetic that you took a day off to clean your house.”
She smirked. “It wasn’t all disinfecting countertops and folding laundry. I had other things to do.”
“Hmm, cryptic. But unless those things involved shoe shopping or a massage, I’m still judging you for doing it wrong.”
She groaned. “Oh God. I haven’t had a massage in nine thousand years. When all this is over, I’m booking a ninety-minute ‘turn me to spaghetti’ massage.”
I was just debating whether I should ask her about “all this” when the back door burst open.
“Oh good. You haven’t been kidnapped and/or entered the witness relocation program,” Gage announced cheerfully from the mudroom as he led Hazel, Cam, and Levi inside.
His sudden appearance had my heart rate kicking up a notch.
Gage’s gaze landed on me, and he raised a sexy eyebrow in question. I bobbled the plate I was drying and nearly dropped it.
God, since when did I find eyebrows sexy?
He was in what I liked to think of as his blue-collar clothes. Ancient jeans and a ripped-up flannel. It was a good look. Cam, Hazel, and a reluctant Levi each kicked off their shoes as they entered. Meetcute followed and began shoving his snoot in every discarded shoe.
Melvin, sensing the home invasion, appeared in the kitchen on a grumbly yawn.
Laura shot me a glare. I held up my hands. “I swear I had nothing to do with this.”
“We missed you, Larry,” Cam said, ruffling Laura’s hair in that brotherly way designed specifically to incite annoyance.
“No, you didn’t,” she said, batting his hand away.
“It’s almost like she’s not happy to see us,” Gage teased, still eyeing me.
“I don’t need any of you idiot babysitters hovering over me, trying to hold my hand,” Laura insisted.
I could understand her desire for privacy.
Hell, I’d been known to hide in bathrooms just to get a breather during parties and work functions.
However, I also would have given several nonessential internal organs to be part of a family that inserted themselves into my life just to show their support.
“Have you met any of us?” Levi asked his sister as he leaned on the counter and rummaged through the basket of snacks.
“We all wanted pizza and thought why not have pizza at your house?” Hazel explained brightly.
All three Bishop brothers pointed at Hazel behind her back, mouthing things like her idea and don’t blame me.
The back door burst open again. “Someone say pizza?”
Laura’s twin sons, Wesley and Harrison, entered the mudroom, looking hopeful and hungry in that bottomless-pit, teenage-boy way. They had identical mops of curly dark hair and were wearing matching polo shirts from the Italian restaurant where they both worked.
“Shoes!” Laura barked, pointing at the twins. “And you just came from Angelo’s where you probably had pizza for lunch.”
The boys sent their shoes flying and padded into the kitchen. “That was hours ago, Mom,” Wes said, giving Laura a one-armed hug.
“Yeah, Mom,” Harry added, hugging her from the other side and flashing impressive puppy dog eyes at Laura. “We’re starving.”
Not wanting to be left out, Melvin muscled his way into the family hug.
“Ugh. Fine,” Laura said, feigning irritation. But I saw her give both boys a hard squeeze before releasing them.
“Hi, Zoey,” Harry greeted me with a flirtatious smile.
“We would have been home sooner if we knew you were here,” Wes said, pushing his brother out of the way.
“Stop flirting with Zoey,” Cam said. “She’s practically your aunt.”
I grinned. “Hi, guys.”
“So are Mom and Dad magically gonna pop out of a closet now?” Laura demanded.
“Nope,” Cam said, swiping Levi’s bag of chips. “They’re on their way to pick up some llamas.”
“Alpacas. A pair of them,” Gage corrected, joining me at the sink and leaning against the counter.
“What the hell are they going to do with alpacas?” Laura wondered.
“What does anyone do with alpacas?” Levi pointed out, snatching the chips back from Cam.
The back door opened again, and Nana entered with her brand of chaotic enthusiasm, followed by sixteen-year-old Isla, who floated dreamily inside.
Her usually glossy black hair looked like she’d just driven through a tornado in a convertible.
She had a faraway expression on her pretty, freckled face.
Laura looked at me and rolled her eyes. I covered my laugh with a cough.
“How was studying?” Laura asked her daughter pointedly as Nana hurled herself at Gage.
“Great,” Isla said as she all but melted against the island next to Levi, leaning down to stroke Melvin’s thick fur.