8. Dove #2
“I’m gonna go up and take a shower. I’m sure I got plenty of time before they get here. You know how they are, they always say thirty minutes, but we both know that means more like an hour, depending on which brothers are in the kitchen.”
I nodded absently, watching his retreating back as he climbed the stairs.
Wanting nothing more than to join him.
I sat myself down on the couch and let myself scroll through my socials for the first time since the day Mom and Gareth had passed.
My Facebook was flooded with condolences and well wishes, thoughtful prayers, and offers of food.
As if homemade lasagna could somehow fix the ache of losing my mother.
I checked the few text messages I’d received from friends, one specifically from Reverie, who lived clear across the country in California.
I missed her the most at times like these.
She was the only other person who knew my deepest darkest secret.
I’m so sorry, Dove . If you need anything at all, let me know. I’m here for you.
Her first text sent a pang straight to my heart.
I think it’s time I came back to visit.
My eyebrows raised in surprise. Reverie couldn’t wait to leave this town behind, so much so that she’d practically walked off the stage at graduation with a packed suitcase.
I decided to reply, even though she wasn’t likely to answer—at least not anytime soon.
Rev was always working. She’d left this one-horse town to pursue her dream, and she’d done it.
Apprenticing under a seasoned, talented stylist the moment she’d landed in LA, my best friend had learned from the best, becoming an amazing hairdresser in her own right.
She was still building up her clientele, or so she’d told me, working with up-and-coming celebrities and social media stars, mostly.
It meant her hours were all over the place.
Thanks, Rev. Everything going okay out there? Miss you.
I’d never been much of a texter, but it was the simplest way to communicate with her. Neither one of us were big on phone calls, but we made sure to FaceTime when we could.
The arrival sound of a text message from our open thread had me looking down in surprise.
Meh. It’s complicated out here.
Hm. As far as I knew, she was living it up. The rest of her message was predictable. She hated Haven.
I don’t want you on that farm all alone. It’s like the country version of The Shining out there. Not healthy.
I snorted at her over-the-top worrying. Rev was hilarious, and I missed how easy she could make me laugh. It had been way too long since we last saw each other.
Her next text surprised and excited me at the same time.
I could def use some PA fresh air. Our air quality out here is less than stellar.
She was clearly skirting the subject, but I’d allow it. If she was really coming to visit, she’d tell me all about it. I decided not to pry.
Can’t wait to see you!! & you don’t have to worry, I’m not alone. Josh came back for the funeral.
The minute the text said read an ellipsis formed on the bottom of the screen. Stopped. Then started again. Which meant she was typing up a storm. Oh boy.
When no reply came, I frowned.
I startled as my ringtone blared tinnily from my phone’s tiny speakers.
Reverie’s name, along with a silly picture we’d taken at graduation, popped up on my phone.
“Hello?” I answered, my voice wary.
“You didn’t think to lead with that?!” came Reverie’s shrill scolding. “I mean”—her voice quieted—“I’m super sorry to hear about your mom. And Gareth,” she added hastily. “But you didn’t think to text me and tell me Josh was back!? What the hell, Dove? I was over here worrying up a storm!”
I winced. Uh oh, best friend foul.
“It’s just been a lot,” I admitted truthfully.
If there was one person I could trust with the truth, it was Reverie.
I adjusted my grip on my phone and settled back into the couch to get more comfortable.
“With… everything. When he showed up, I figured he’d leave after the funeral, but it’s been a week so far and… ”
“So, what? He’s planning on staying?” A rustling sound followed her question as if she was busy doing something. Multitasking, I imagined, since I knew Reverie well enough to know she never could focus on just one thing at a time.
I glanced over my shoulder, straining my hearing. The shower was still running, but Josh could be done any moment. I didn’t want him overhearing me.
“I don’t know,” I lowered my voice. It was a question I wanted answered myself. “He sort of said he was, but he didn’t say how long.”
Her shit-eating grin was practically audible over the phone as she exclaimed, “This is your chance, babe!”
Baffled, I asked, “Chance for what?”
I situated myself on the couch so I could keep the stairs in my line of sight. The last thing I needed was for Josh to creep down and hear any part of this conversation. Even through the phone, Reverie’s voice had the habit of carrying.
“Uh, to reinstate Operation Seduce Josh!” she replied, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.
I groaned. “Enough with that, Rev. That was never supposed to be a real thing . You made that up when we were stupid, horny teenagers with crushes. There’s no way that’s happening, okay?”
Reverie scoffed. “You act like that was so long ago. We’re stupid, horny twenty-somethings , now. And please, I know it’s not just a crush for you. You haven’t had to witness the two of you in the same room together. Believe me, it’s nauseatingly a real thing. ”
My lips ticked down in a frown. Wait, what?
“Rev, wha?—”
A shrill noise interrupted me over her line.
“Shit,” Reverie’s quiet curse followed. “Gotta go, that was my client’s timer. She’s done processing, which means break time’s over. Love you, keep me updated!”
Before I could argue that there was nothing to keep her updated on the call ended.
I glanced down at the screen of my phone, slightly perplexed.
What had she meant by that, about how I’d never had to see Josh and me in a room together? That made absolutely no sense.
I gave a doubtful shake of my head. The LA scene was getting to her. She thought she was some sort of mystical matchmaker now.
I was still contemplating my call with Reverie when Josh came down the stairs.
The worn wood of the stairs creaked softly, the only indication of his presence. My head turned, and there he was, brushing the damp strands of his dark hair off his forehead, wearing dark grey sweatpants and a sleeveless shirt advertising a gym I’d never heard of.
“I thought I heard you talking,” Josh commented as he walked past the back of the couch and made his way into the kitchen. My eyes tracked him, and from where I sat, I could just make out his back as he went to the cabinet above the sink and opened it.
He rummaged inside our self-proclaimed “medicine cabinet”. Maybe he was sore from working today?
“Yeah,” I answered slowly, watching him collect items. “Reverie called.”
“Oh, yeah? How’s she doing?” he asked, back still turned as he rifled around for whatever he was hunting for. “How’s LA?”
I shrugged, setting my phone down beside me on the couch as I tucked my feet up under me, getting comfy. “When I asked, she said it was complicated, which means something’s going on, but she doesn’t want to tell me yet.”
Josh padded back into the living room, his hands full of supplies. My frown grew as he sat beside me, setting everything down on the coffee table.
“Maybe she’s homesick,” he offered. “I mean, she did pack up and move clear across the country all by herself.” He paused for a minute, thoughtful. “Maybe she misses Zeke?”
“Maybe.” I eyed the tube of Neosporin sitting innocuously on the table before me. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he replied in that smooth voice of his, sliding one of his legs up in between us so he could shift to face me properly.
It brought us close, close enough I could feel the heat of his leg alongside my own.
This situation was getting scarily similar to the made-up scenario I’d been daydreaming about earlier.
He held out a hand, palm up as he requested, “Let me see your hands.”
“What?” My fingers curled into loose fists, and I tugged them closer to me. “Why?”
He chuckled, and it was so soft and lovely my nipples tightened at the sound. Thank God I’d been smart enough to wear a padded cami top.
He reached for me, and when his hands slid around my wrists and tugged, I followed.
“We should put something on these,” he suggested as he examined the mostly superficial cuts littered across my skin.
His gaze flickered to mine before dropping down to my torn-up hands.
He was so close I could see the small honey-like flecks in his warm brown eyes.
“You’re up to date on your tetanus, right? ”
I scowled. Offended by his question, I tried to snatch my hands back. His grip tightened, not letting me escape his hold.
“I live on a farm ,” I reminded him. Stepping on things, getting scratched by things, or worse, was all in a day’s work. Of course, I had my tetanus shot.
“Dumb question, sorry,” he apologized with a sheepish half-smile. For some reason it brought about a pang of sadness in me. Maybe we really were strangers to one another.
But the way his hands touched mine…
It was with a familiarity and gentleness that proved otherwise.
He laid my hands out between us, my palm half resting on my thigh as my fingers spread over his muscular leg.
He reached for the Neosporin and thumbed opened the cap, squeezing a tiny amount onto his finger before dabbing at the worse of the cuts I’d acquired.
It didn’t hurt, not really, but I nearly flinched regardless.