The Bluff (Graham Brothers, #2)(76)

It’s a relief to tell Lindy everything—and I mean everything—about the weekend’s events. Kyoko, whom I hugged in a tearful goodbye a few hours ago, is the only other person I talked to about James, and our conversation at the restaurant hardly counts for much. It feels like everything has changed since then, and the need to talk about it has been building with volcanic pressure inside me.

The only thing I leave out are the details about my nightmare and my dad. Confessing the truth to James made me realize I need to tell my best friends … but not yet. One big, emotional thing at a time.

Lindy squeals at periodic moments, which is very uncharacteristic of her. I chose to call her rather than telling Val, because I assumed I’d get a more analytical, maybe even cynical, response. But maybe being with Pat has changed her genetic makeup. By the time I finish, her deep sighs make it sound like she’s melted into a puddle of goo.

“I expected more from you, Linds. If I wanted the reaction of a teen girl at a K-Pop concert, I would have called Val.”

She scoffs. “I’m on my honeymoon. Forgive me if I’m in a mushy romantic place right now.”

“You’re supposed to be the voice of reason. You should tell me James is a bad idea and remind me that Dale and I just broke up.”

“You and Dale were DOA. You just waited an excessively long time to call the time of death.”

“Have you been watching Grey’s Anatomy again?”

“It’s so funny dubbed into Italian!”

I’ll bet.

“I don’t want James to be a rebound.”

This makes Lindy laugh. And laugh and laugh. I don’t know how much this call will cost her with the international plan she set up, but I hope it’s a lot. She totally deserves it.

“James—a rebound for Dale,” she says. “That’s rich.”

Okay, fine. The feelings I have for James are not rebound feelings. And I think she’s also right about me and Dale being over long, long ago. Did we ever even start? Knowing now about Celia, I’m grateful I held so much back.

But am I really ready to risk myself for James? He’s the kind of man who probably has Heartbreaker and Commitment Issues tattooed somewhere over his heart. Though I didn’t notice any such tattoos when he was walking around shirtless …

“So, you think I should forget about the fact James and I work together, forget all the mixed signals from him and just go for it?”

“I think it sounds like you’re looking for a reason to object,” Lindy says. “That’s why you really called me, not Val. You expected me to shoot this down.”

Okay, maybe she’s got a point here too.

“It’s just … complicated.”

“When is love not complicated?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Calm down, son. No one here mentioned love.”

Lindy laughs. “I just wanted to see how defensive you’d get if I said love. Pretty dang defensive, Winnie. Which tells me you may not be in love yet, but yet is the key word.”

Love is a massive, terrifying word. It’s a monster underneath my bed, and I’ve got the covers pulled tight over my head. But as much as I’d like to hide from it, that word more than any other describes the depth of feelings I’m grappling with. They’re not just like. They’re not just lust. They’re beyond infatuation or attraction or any of the other -ions.

“You’re the worst when you’re happy and in love,” I tell her.

“I miss you too. Lucky for you we’re coming back early.”

“You are? What about your amazing honeymoon?”

“It is amazing. But I miss Jo. And can I just say that my insides are not loving all this rich food? Plus, the toilet paper over here is weird. It’s very chafey and—”

“You lost me at chafey. When exactly will you be back?”

“In time for Feastivus. Will you make sure someone invites the Graham clan? I don’t know what their plans are, but Pat wants them to come.”

With everything going on, I’d forgotten about Feastivus, Sheet Cake’s unique take on Thanksgiving. A few women from the Ladies Literary Libations Society started the tradition the fall after Mom died and Val’s mom ran off. Someone decided there were too many people around town with missing family members, so they established a big feast on Thanksgiving Day. It’s like a dysfunctional version of a church basement potluck with better food.

It was originally The Feast of Us, but got shortened over time—and because of accents—to Feastivus. I didn’t have the heart to tell anyone that the name is shared by the game Plants vs Zombies. Most of the older Sheeters wouldn’t know what that is anyway.

“I’ll ask them. So, any actual, practical advice, my terribly lovestruck friend? I mean, I have to work with James, and I don’t even know what’s going on.”

“You’re only working with him temporarily, though, right? I mean, this was never the long-term plan?”

“Right.” The word tastes wrong, like coffee with bitter, over-roasted beans. I’m looking at you, Starbucks.

This job for James was never supposed to be long-term. And actually, before we left brunch this morning, Harper said she’s going to get me in contact with one of her friends’ husbands who has launched several successful apps. Which means I could move from just thinking about selling Neighborly to actually doing so. Even if I get a modest price, it would mean I don’t need to work with James.