Chapter 32
Maren
“Ilove your place.” Lindsey’s eyes bounce around the entryway as she makes her way inside. “It’s so pretty.”
I want to tell her it’s not my house, but I also very much want her to know I licked Trevor—a few minutes ago actually—and he’s mine, so I just say, “Thanks.” I look down at the covered dish in her hands. “You didn’t have to bring anything.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t feel right showing up empty-handed.” She passes over the foil wrapped pan. “It’s nothing fancy. Just some angel bars.”
“Angel bars?” I peek under the foil, peering in at the fluffy, slightly crusty, pale squares. A citrusy scent wafts out of the opening, making my mouth water. “Those look really freaking good.”
Good enough I might not have to make the sweet and salty bars for every event anymore.
“They were my dad’s favorites.” For the first time ever, Lindsey’s smile dims. “He could eat a whole pan all by himself.”
I can’t imagine what it’s like to have fond memories of a parent. Don’t have the first clue how to converse with someone who does. So I change the subject. “Come in and sit down. I’m sure everyone else will be here soon.”
Lindsey follows me down the hall and into the kitchen, where I set her bars beside mine. Her eyes widen when she sees the other pan. “Oh no. Should I have made something else? I didn’t even think—”
“Bringing dessert was probably the best choice.” I attempt what might be a reassuring smile. “These girls love sweets.” I go to the fridge to pull out the corn salad I made. “And what they don’t eat, the guys will.”
Lindsey traces a vein in the marble counter with the tip of one finger. “The guys?”
Sometimes I forget not everyone is as nosy as I am and makes it their personal mission to know all the things about all the people. “The owners of the company are all brothers.” I tip my head as I amend, “Plus their cousin, Walker. But he’s pretty much a brother.”
“Oh. That’s interesting.” Her eyes move around the kitchen. “And they all live here?”
“Yup.” I pull plates from the cabinet and turn to stack them on the island. “Well, not here, here. It’s just me and Trevor who live here, plus my sister.”
When what I’ve said registers, I almost drop Trevor’s expensive dishes onto the floor. Because Zara and I don’t live here. We’re just staying here until...
I don’t really know when.
For all I do know, it could take another year to figure out what’s going on at McKinley Security Systems. To discover who hired the Dead Dans and who broke into my trailer.
And what happens at the end of that year? Am I going to pack up and go? Rip Zara away from the first place where she’s been truly safe?
That would just be silly.
The lock on the front door beeps as someone punches in the code, letting themselves in.
“Hello.” Mariah’s voice echoes down the hall. “I’ve got taco stuff.” She comes in carrying a triple-well slow cooker, a giant bag slung over one shoulder. “I hope you guys are hungry, because I made a crap-ton.”
“Oh my gosh, let me help you.” Lindsey quickly goes to Mariah’s side, taking the crockpot so Mariah doesn’t lose her hold on the bag. “This smells fantastic.”
“Mariah’s a chef.” Might as well continue filling Lindsey in on all the details. Especially if she’s going to be part of our friend group. “She’s also married to Titus, the oldest brother. He runs the tech department at McKinley Security Systems.”
Lindsey’s brows pinch together. “I don’t think I’ve met him yet.”
Mariah slings her bag up onto the counter. “He’s only in the office one day a week. Most of the time he works from home.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Because he likes to be up your ass.”
“I like having him up my ass.” Mariah starts unloading containers of chilled taco toppings. “He’s my favorite person.”
I snort. “I can’t imagine Trevor being around me twenty-four seven.”
Mariah stops what she’s doing and grins at me. “Is that your way of admitting he’s your favorite person?”
Goddammit.
“No.” I reach for her giant crockpot so I can move it close to an outlet. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“So, Mariah is married to Titus, Ruth is married to Tucker, and you’re married to Trevor.” Lindsey counts off on her fingers as she goes. “Who are Tobias and Walker married to?”
“I am not married to Trevor.” I manage to get the crockpot into place, plugging it in and setting it on low. “We’re just…”
Living together. Fucking. Cuddling all night. Supporting each other when we get stressed and co-juggling my sister’s care.
“They’re just in love,” Mariah says in a singsongy voice, batting her lashes at me. “It’s adorable.”
I shoot her a glare. “If you ever refer to me as adorable again, we are no longer friends.”
Hoping I can move this conversation away from myself, I answer Lindsey’s question. “Tobias is married to Brooke, the woman I work for. She’ll be here soon. And Walker isn’t married.”
“Because finding someone to marry would require him to use more than three words a day,” Mariah adds on.
Lindsey frowns. It’s the first time I’ve seen her do anything besides smile, and it kinda throws me for a fucking loop. “Walker says more than three words a day.” She sounds oddly defensive of him.
Interesting…
But it also makes sense. He’s responsible for her future advancement at McKinley Security Systems. And advancing there is pretty fucking sweet.
“You’re right. I take it back. He does talk.” Mariah starts searching Trevor’s cabinets. “When I first moved here, we actually had a pretty nice conversation.”
“A conversation that led to your husband having a total meltdown.”
And considering Walker did it on purpose, maybe he does have a little bit of the same orneriness in him that the Bradshaw boys do. He might just be better at hiding it.
“Titus is still weird about sharing my caramel cake because of that chat.” She fishes out a serving platter and starts layering on lettuce, tomato, and jalapeno. “And I think Walker’s capable of conversing when he wants to.” She grins. “He just doesn’t usually want to.”
Lindsey, who’s been hanging on Mariah’s every word asks, “I wonder why?”
Mariah glances at me before answering, “Probably stress.”
Yeah. Sure. Definitely not because he’s emotionally stunted thanks to his mother’s untimely and unexplained death.
Not that I’m judging. I’m quite confident my own mommy issues fucked me all the way up.
The front door opens again, this time as Ruth and Brooke enter.
They both greet Lindsey, and soon we’re pouring margaritas and munching through chips and guac, talking about work and parenting and everything in between.
Eventually, we move on to the tacos, filling our plates and carrying them into the formal dining room since Zara has claimed the breakfast room as her art studio.
I’m partway through my first steak-filled tortilla when I realize we haven’t really asked Lindsey any questions about her life. We’re too used to already knowing just about everything about each other, so it didn’t even occur to me before now.
Pausing my inhalation of Mariah’s fabulous cooking, I focus on where she sits next to me. “So, what made you move here?”
Lindsey takes a sip of her margarita to wash down her own mouthful. “I actually came here specifically for the job at McKinley Security Systems. It seemed like such a great place to work, and once I got the offer, I started packing my bags.”
I understand that. I probably would’ve moved to get a job at McKinley too.
Hell, I took a pay cut and a temp job specifically to get my foot in the door, knowing the sacrifice would pay off eventually.
“It really is a great place to work. The pay is great. They give more vacation right out of the gate than just about anybody. And their insurance is awesome. Especially if you have kids.”
“Do you have kids?” Ruth must have noticed the same thing I did, because she’s the next one to ask Lindsey about her life.
“No.” The pretty blonde shakes her head. “I’ve had a lot on my plate, and haven’t had time for much of anything. Kids. Relationships.” She gives us a soft smile. “Friends.”
“Well you have friends now.” Mariah lifts her glass, stretching it across the wide table. “To friendship.”
We all do the same, clinking Trevor’s super-expensive tumblers together as we repeat, “To friendship.”
I drink a little of my margarita, fighting the urge to say what I’m thinking.
I don’t usually share how I’m feeling, but it seems wrong to keep everything inside like I always have.
These women share so much with me. They trust me with their secrets.
With their sadness. With their frustrations and with their celebrations.
I didn’t tell them about Zara until I absolutely had to. Even then, I didn’t fully explain our situation. What would have been the point?
Now I know. The point is to not feel alone. To be supported by people who want to lift me up.
People who I want to lift up in return.
And right now, that includes Lindsey.
“I know what you mean by not having time for friends.” I peek at Lindsey so she knows I’m talking to her, but then put my eyes back on my plate.
Because talking about my feelings might be something I’m finally willing to dip my toe into, but it’s very fucking uncomfortable.
“I didn’t have friends until I started working at McKinley. ”
The room goes quiet, amplifying my discomfort. I feel exposed, and it has me regretting opening up. Wishing I continued holding everything close.
But then a tortilla chip bounces off my forehead.
I look up and Brooke waggles her eyebrows at me. “And now look at you. You’ve got a bunch of friends you can’t seem to get rid of.”
A smile tries to work onto my lips. “You guys are kind of annoying.”
“Yeah.” Mariah grins and tips her glass at me. “But we make really good margaritas.”
“That is definitely a perk.” I pick up the chip Brooke chucked at me, pointing it at Lindsey. “Now you’re probably stuck with them too.”
Lindsey smiles, but this time it’s not the giant, blinding, manufactured one I normally get from her. This one seems genuine. Real.
“I would really like that.” She picks up her glass, swallowing down a mouthful of sweetened lime juice and tequila. “I do love a good margarita.”
“We’re good for more than just alcohol.” Ruth tilts her head my way. “That one has a van that would be perfect for transporting bodies.” She winks dramatically. “You know, if the need ever arises.”
It’s something we joke about often, and I’m pretty sure it’s rooted in the shared trauma of what happened with the Dead Dans and Ruth’s ex.
That’s probably why our friendship became so strong so fast. We’ve been through a lot together, and in a pretty short timespan.
More than most people go through in a lifetime.
The kind of stuff no one else would believe, let alone be able to commiserate.
Lindsey shrugs, her blinding smile slapped back in place as she perkily says, “You never know.”
The rest of the night is filled with more alcohol, more laughing, and more food.
Lindsey’s angel bars are fucking fantastic.
I like them even better than the sweet and salty ones I make, and I’m pretty sure Ruth does too.
They’re citrusy and fresh-tasting and dusted with powdered sugar that gives them a delicately sweet finish.
We’ve just started winding down when everyone’s rides start showing up. Titus is the first one to come collect his wife. Mariah had so much fun, that collection requires a piggyback, since he doesn’t want her trying to navigate the stairs leading to the porch.
The rest of the crew shows up at pretty much the same time, and the volume in the house amplifies exponentially. Tucker walks in with Birdie, her blonde curls still wet from the pool. Toby and Trevor angle Zara through the door, one gripping each side of her chair while she cackles wildly.
The second she sees me she lifts both arms above her head. “Trevor and Uncle Toby carried me up the steps. I didn’t even have to get out of my chair.”
“That’s pretty freaking cool.” I look her over. “Did you have fun swimming?”
It’s a rhetorical question. Zara has fun wherever she goes, but she absolutely loves Brooke and Toby’s swimming pool. My sister could paddle around that thing all day. She’s only been a couple times, but already begs to go daily.
Which means she’ll probably ask tomorrow, and I will probably say yes. Because I don’t hate Brooke’s pool either.
Ruth and Brooke say their goodbyes, giving Zara hugs on their way out the door.
I look my sister over, taking in her chlorine saturated hair, and bleach scented skin. “You need a shower.”
“But I’m clean. I was just in water,” she whines.
“You might be sanitized, but you are not clean.” I unhook her bag from the back of her chair, unzipping it to tip out the snacks I sent just in case she got hungry. As I turn for the counter, I notice Lindsey’s still sitting on one of the stools.
In all the chaos, I sort of forgot about her.
“I should probably go too.” She slides off her chair, but the second her feet connect to the floor, she wobbles a little bit, bringing one hand to her head.
“Oh my gosh. Those margaritas must have been stronger than I realized.” She pinches her lower lip between her teeth, eyes squinting as she asks, “Would it be okay if I called an Uber and picked my car up later?”
“Of course.” I definitely don’t want her driving right now. I’m sure she wants to go home—we don’t know each other well enough for couch crashing just yet—but getting a rideshare all the way out here is expensive, if not impossible. “But I can take you. Let me get my keys.”
“I’ll take her.”
I spin around to discover there’s another person I forgot about.
Walker steps in from where he’s been talking to Trevor in the foyer. “You need to get Zara to bed. I don’t mind giving Lindsey a ride home.” His steely blue eyes focus on my new friend. “As long as she’s comfortable with it.”
Lindsey bobs her head quickly. “Absolutely. Of course. I’m totally comfortable with it.”
That was sort of… Overeager. Then again, that seems to be a large portion of Lindsey’s personality, so maybe she’s just grateful.
“Okay.” I give Lindsey a quick sideways hug.
“Let me know what you want to do about your car.” I don’t know what she has planned for tomorrow, but from the looks of it, it might be nursing a hangover.
“If it’s easier, I can always pick you up Monday morning on the way to work and then you don’t have to come all the way back out here. ”
“That would actually be perfect.” She grabs me again, this time giving me a full embrace. “You’re the best.”
“Thanks.” I give her back a pat, knowing she wouldn’t be saying that if she knew all the things I thought of her when we first met.