More Than Anything (Broken Pieces #1)(46)
“I exercise regularly, you know?” she said. Wanting him to know that there was more to her than the obvious and resenting the inexplicable desire to tell him this about her.
“Okay?” He looked baffled by her non sequitur, and Tina cleared her throat awkwardly, committed to this pointless cause now.
“People always assume that if you’re overweight, you have to be a lazy, unhealthy person who doesn’t take care of yourself.”
“I never assumed that. You glow with good health,” he said sincerely before his eyes went flat and his voice went cold. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t lump me in with these other ‘people,’ though.”
“It’s hard not to, Harris,” she said, her voice low, her eyes somber, and even though the topic was taboo for the day, they both knew she was thinking of a time he’d allowed what his peers thought to rule his actions.
He nodded regretfully. “I know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Jesus, don’t apologize, Tina! You have nothing to apologize for. Ever.”
She did, though. A secret so huge it was starting to drive a wedge even between her and her best friend.
“So . . . ,” he said with determined cheer, pushing himself away from the tiny excuse of a dining table and leaping to his feet, “what do we do now?”
“The dishes?”
“Nah. Those can wait. Let’s check out the town. I haven’t really been anywhere yet, just drove through it to Knysna yesterday.”
“I don’t think there’s much to see,” she said doubtfully, also getting up.
“Nonsense, there’s the beach . . .”
“It’s pouring,” she pointed out.
“We could just drive by? And after that, we could go to the pub.”
“It won’t be open today. Apparently, this town is super traditional, very family oriented. People go to church and have big Sunday lunches, followed by afternoon naps. That’s why the restaurant is closed today—it wouldn’t be economically viable to open on Sundays. And I know for a fact that the liquor license doesn’t permit the selling of alcohol today. So no pub.”
“That’s a fucking bummer,” he said, sounding so disgusted that she couldn’t stop herself from laughing.
“Let’s go for a drive anyway.” His restlessness was almost palpable. “We could go and check out that cheese festival.”
“That’s half an hour away,” she pointed out, and he shrugged.
“You got anywhere else to be today?”
She thought about her laptop, sitting unopened on her kitchen table. She had spent most of the morning finally unpacking those boxes, finding a productive way to dodge the accounting. She had finished just as Greyson had left in those jeans, and now she had no more procrastination boxes to unpack. Decision made. She was definitely not in the mood for being a responsible adult today. She shook her head recklessly in answer to Harris’s question.
“Great. Grab a coat and meet me on the porch in three minutes.”
She grinned, abruptly excited about this unplanned excursion. She’d been living in Riversend for over a month and hadn’t done anything but travel between MJ’s and this house. She hadn’t met anyone beyond her staff, and there was a certain formality between her and the people she employed. The prospect of going out and just being normal for an afternoon was unexpectedly appealing.
“Make it five minutes—I have to do something first,” she said, and he nodded with a happy smile.
Tina made her way home, and—determinedly keeping her eyes away from her laptop—she pulled off her slouchy long top en route to her bedroom. She replaced the top with a fuzzy cream sweater and dragged on her black peplum leather biker jacket over it. Back in the open-plan living area, she picked up her phone, which she had left forgotten on her kitchen counter in her rush to head next door and ask Harris about Greyson’s jeans earlier. She checked it, and her stomach sank when she saw that there were no messages from Libby.
A couple from Smith and another missed call from her mother, but nothing else.
She sighed and with a few sweeps of her thumb had Libby’s number up on her screen. Her finger hovered over the call button before she swore and swiped to hide her friend’s contact page. Instead she went to her messages and sent Libby a quick text. It felt safer—if a little more cowardly—than talking.
I’m so sorry about yesterday. I want to tell you about it. I want to explain. I do love Clara so much. But it’s really hard for me to talk about.
She sent the message before she could reconsider and then watched her screen anxiously. It remained unread. A glance at Libby’s details told her that her friend hadn’t been online in more than two hours.
Well, that was . . . interesting. She sent another message: I hope you’re making him unclog drains and plunge toilets. I love you. Chat later.
She put her phone on silent before tucking it into her jacket pocket. She dragged on her favorite high-heel, knee-length black leather boots; a fluffy ice-blue scarf with matching gloves; and an adorable matching tasseled aviator hat. She grabbed her huge purse on the way out.
Harris was waiting for her on the porch, looking mouthwateringly gorgeous. He had changed out of his sweats and was wearing distressed denim jeans, a red-and-black plaid shirt, and a faded denim jacket with a fur collar, along with leather gloves and a slouchy black beanie.