Chapter Four
The Isla Problem
Ingrid
Isla's high-pitched voice echoes through my room as I pry my tired eyes open.
“I'm thinking butternut squash,” she says. “Or possibly mint green.”
“What are you doing?” I groan. “And why are you in my room before my alarm clock has gone off?”
Isla motions to the woman over her shoulder.
“Who are you?” I squint my eyes in her direction. Why is everything so blurry this early?
The short-haired, brunette in a plum-colored blouse points to herself. “Me?”
“No,” I say, rolling my eyes, “the woman behind you.”
She glances over her shoulder.
“I meant you,” I quip as I rub a tired hand over my face. “Why are you both in my room?”
Isla wiggles her shoulders excitedly. “We're picking nursery colors.”
“Yes, but why are you doing this in my room?” I question her.
“Because this is going to be the nursery,” Isla chirps as she shakes her head at me. “Duh.”
I rip my comforter off my legs before wailing, “Mom!” at the top of my lungs.
I just... I cannot believe I have to deal with Isla's bullshit for another summer. She's gone too far. Too. Far.
My feet pound down the stairs as I yell, “Mom!” again.
“In here!” she replies from the dining room.
“Mom,” I seethe, breathless.
“What's wrong, Ingrid?” Mom asks, exhaling.
“Isla just informed me that she will be turning my room into the nursery,” I say, narrowing my eyes at her. “That's not happening.”
“No,” Mom agrees. “We're just letting her think it is.”
“What? That makes no sense, Mom.”
Why do Jason and Jill always do this? Why do they let Isla bulldoze everyone all the time?
“It's the path of least objection,” Mom tuts.
“Resistance,” I sigh.
“I know what objection means, Ingrid.”
“No, the saying is the path of—you know what? It doesn't matter. She shouldn't be living here with one of her college professors who impregnated her. Emphasis on impregnated.”
“It's pregnant.” Mom blinks slowly. “There's no im in front of it.”
Ugh. This conversation is going nowhere.
“The point is she should be back at college screwing up her life without involving us.” I make sure to exaggerate every word.
“Harvey had hip replacement surgery a few months ago.” Mom's eyes widen at the words. “How painful. Anyway, then his house burned down and now they have nowhere to live.”
“So, they're just going to live here and take over my room?” I raise my eyebrows at her.
Mom taps her finger on her chin. “Your father said he will figure out a way to get Harvey in trouble with the university without him losing his job.”
“He will lose his job,” I make clear. “He impregnated a student.”
“Pregnant, Ingrid. He got his student pregnant.”
I scratch the back of my neck. “Either way, you can't let Mussolini start making decisions for the greater good of this family. I will not live under a fascist dictator, Mom. I won't do it.”
“I'll see what I can do.” Mom lets out a weary sigh. “What should I do?” She mutters to herself. “What should I do?”
Her naivety is enough to make me rethink my approach. “Maybe you and Dad could suggest to Harvey the Hobbling Senior Citizen that they'd be happier in their own place. A place with more than enough space for a nursery that will not make me homeless.”
“You think that might work?” She sounds hopeful.
I shrug. “It's worth a try.”
Sometimes, I wonder how I survived living under Queen Isla's tyrannical reign while in high school. What am I saying? I was too worried about Cash and the Allreds to pay any attention to what was happening beneath this roof.
Clearly, Isla was bullying Jason and Jill into getting her way. No wonder they celebrated when she left for college.
They barely survived.
When I return to my room, Isla has pulled the curtains down and she's already moving furniture around.
“Get out!” I scream as I grab my white curtains off the carpet. “Get out now!”
Isla rolls her eyes dramatically, but the short-haired brunette makes a beeline for my door.
“Ing, you really have to learn how to control that temper of yours,” Isla tsks me.
I drop the curtains at my feet and glare at her. “Listen up, Stalin. You can fool some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you cannot fool all of the people all of the time.”
“Quit quoting Dr. Seuss,” she groans.
“It's Abraham Lincoln!” I bellow. “Read a history book!”
Isla's hand finds her stomach. “You're upsetting the baby. Stop yelling at me.”
Blind fury rages through me. “Get. Out. Now!”
“Fine,” she sneers. “But I will be back.”
“Over my dead body!”
If she thinks she’s stealing my room for her and Harvey the Hobbling Senior Citizen’s love child, she’s really gone too far this time.
There’s only one way to handle this.
And that’s war.
Twenty minutes later, Wilder frowns and asks, “Why are we at the hardware store?”
“Because,” I say, turning off my car engine. “I have to keep Isla and her grabby fingers out of my room.”
Wilder yawns. “And how are we going to do that?”
“With a door lock,” I proclaim with a grin.
“Lock?” Wilder perks up. “As in, we don't have to worry that someone might walk in on us?”
“Yep.”
He hops out of my car without missing a beat. “Hurry up, Blondie!”
I laugh as I grab my purse and slip my fingers into Wilder's waiting hand.
“You look good first thing in the morning,” Wilder says against my hair, his hand gently squeezing mine.
I take in his sleepy hazel eyes, the messy strands of hair that frame his forehead, and the mole beneath his left eye. “You look good, too.”
“I was thinking about living together,” Wilder murmurs so prying ears can’t overhear. “I could take out a student loan to cover—”
“No,” I interrupt him. “You worked really, really hard to save up all that money so you wouldn't have to take out a loan. I won't let you give up—”
“Ingrid,” Wilder interrupts, smiling down at me. “Plans change. We adapt. Nothing is set in stone.”
Hope fills my chest as he bites down on his lower lip.
He's right. He was never part of my plan. He wasn't part of the equation. Now, he's the first person I think about when I wake up in the morning. The last person I think about before I drift off to sleep. The only person I picture in my future.
“Okay,” I decide, licking my lips.
“Welcome to—” the door greeter begins but immediately stops.
“Cash?” I whip my head back, my eyes landing on the white Vance's Handyman Shop tee he's sporting. “You work here?”
He runs a hand through his short blond hair. “Yeah.”
“Since when?” Wilder frowns.
“For a while,” Cash says with a shrug.
“Why didn't you tell me?” Wilder asks, looking hurt.
“Just because we room together doesn't mean I owe you updates on my life,” Cash says as he rolls his blue eyes.
Seems like I'm interrupting a lover's spat. Best friend's spat?
“No,” Wilder agrees. “But you could at least tell your best friend that you have a job.”
“Well, you didn't tell your best friend when you started sleeping with his girlfriend,” Cash quips. “So, I guess we both keep things from each other.”
Wilder takes a wounded step back as I hold on tight to his hand.
Once again, it’s all about Cash. Some things never change.
“That was a low blow,” I grind out, shaking my head at Cash. “We were broken up and you left for Europe. You didn't even talk to Wilder while you were there.”
“Last time I checked,” Cash lowers his voice and leans forward, “I didn't ask for your opinion, Ingrid.”
“No, you never do,” I retort, lifting my chin in defiance. “Must be an Allred thing.”
Cash briefly closes his eyes before plastering a smile on his face. “Welcome to Vance's Handyman Shop. Is there anything I can help you find today?”
“Doorknob with a lock,” I voice at the same time Wilder says, “Your dignity.”
I hide a smile as Cash pinches the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb. “This way.”
Wilder lets my hand go and wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me flush against him. I have a sneaky hunch he's going to use me to piss off Cash. Normally, I would condone such behavior. But today, I'm choosing violence.
“Have I told you how beautiful you are?” Wilder grins down at me.
Guess we are pissing Cash off today. After the wake-up call I got, I’m game.
“Only every other five minutes,” I sweetly reply as I reach up and caress his cheek.
Wilder holds back a laugh as Cash's shoulders tense.
“This aisle,” Cash curtly says.
“So,” I clear my throat, “I'm looking specifically for an interior doorknob with a lock and key.”
Cash abruptly stops walking. “Why?”
“Because,” I say with a smirk. “Wilder and I need our privacy.”
When Cash makes eye contact with me, I don't miss the hurt that fills his blue eyes. I crossed the line. I crossed it way too hard.
Guilt floods my chest.
Cash left for Europe to help me. He'd been living with Fanny's manipulation tactics for so long that I don't think he could even think straight.
Still, he left without saying goodbye to Wilder.
Using my relationship with Wilder to punish him isn’t any better than his snide comments.
I should say I'm sorry, but the moment passes, and Cash points to a wall of doorknobs.
“You should be able to find one here,” he grumbles before he leaves us.
I drop my head into my hands. “I'm an asshole.”
“No,” Wilder says, rubbing his hands up and down my arms. “You are human and Cash keeps pushing us.”
I lift my head and see Wilder's hazel-green eyes. It's the flecks of gold in them I like best. “I took it too far. I should have... I should have known better.”
Wilder nods. “I think you forget we're still young.”
“And?”
“And we're not even allowed to legally drink yet,” he smiles at me. “We have another year to go. We're still kids in the grand scheme of things. Don't be so hard on yourself, okay?”
“You always let me off the hook too easily,” I chastise him.
“You do the same for me,” he replies. “We're in love, Blondie. That's what people in love do.”
“Cash never...” I don't even bother finishing that sentence. “I'm still getting used to it.”
“Me too,” he admits.
As I gaze up at him through a curtain of lashes, my heart flutters in my chest. I didn't just fall in love with Wilder Cox. I fell in love with my best friend.
“Let's pick one out,” I suggest as a smile spreads across my face.
“Yeah,” Wilder says, dragging his gaze from my lips.
We spend five minutes looking through every knob on the wall before settling on a silver one with two keys.
I don't know if this will solve my Isla problem, but it's worth a shot.
Wilder drapes his arm over my shoulders as we head toward the cash register. Sometimes, I forget that there are other people in the world. When Wilder is this close, everything else fades in comparison.
“You've got to be kidding me,” Wilder groans.
My eyes snap to the door.
Standing next to Cash is Archibald Allred. And in Archibald's arms is Dahlia, Cash's half-sister.
“Clementine must be close by,” I whisper to Wilder as we stop mid-walk.
“Do we... approach?” Wilder asks, tilting his dark head to the side.
“Do we have a choice?” I inhale sharply.
While we're deciding, Archibald turns with the baby in his arms and waves at us. “Wilder! Ingrid!”
Oh great, we’ve been spotted.
Wilder removes his arm from my shoulders and runs a hand through his hair, and I tug on my shirt, making sure my midriff isn't showing.
Even after everything, being around the Allred clan is still uncomfortable for both of us.
“It's been so long,” Archibald says as he smiles a little too wide.
“How are you doing?” It comes out of Wilder's mouth jagged and rough.
“Great!” Archibald gloats. Must be all the sex he's getting from two different women.
“You know,” Wilder clears his throat, “Blondie and I tried out that restaurant a few nights ago that you and Fanny used to love so much. Oof, I can't remember what it's called.”
“Lulu's,” I supply as Archibald shifts uncomfortably, the smile fading.
“Do you go there anymore?” Wilder narrows his eyes slightly.
Archibald shakes his head. “Nope.”
“Huh,” slips out of my lips.
“Your total,” Cash clears his throat, “is $57.64.”
Archibald slides his wallet out of his back pocket, balancing the tiny baby in his arms. When he hands over his black card, I swallow harshly.
“I've been meaning to ask you,” Archibald says to Cash. “Why aren't you staying at the house? It’s empty.”
Wilder and I share a curious look.
“I'm, uh, staying with Wilder,” Cash tells his dad.
“Why?” Archibald takes his card back.
Yeah, why? Why has Cash been staying with Wilder when he could have been living in the Allred Mansion alone?
“I'm not taking any more handouts from you,” Cash states flatly. “You can also stop texting me about the truck. I'm not driving it.”
Wilder lets out a frustrated breath and mumbles, “What the fuck?”
“Here's your receipt.” Cash refuses to meet his dad's stare as he pushes the paper into his open palm.
“I'll see you around, son.” Archibald sighs heavily. He doesn't bother saying goodbye to Wilder and me before pushing open the door of Vance's Handyman Shop and leaving.
“Explain yourself,” Wilder snaps, glaring at Cash.
Cash crosses his arms over his chest. “Explain what?”
“You've had your house to yourself all year and you've been... you've been...”
“Cock blocking you?” Cash gives him a shit-eating grin. “How's it feel, bestie?”
I grab Wilder's arm before he has a chance to deck Cash with a punch.
“There are people around,” I say quietly to Wilder.
“I. Don't. Care.”
That’s blatantly obvious.
And here I thought Isla was my biggest problem this morning.