Consolation (Consolation Duet #1)(11)

“Well, who wouldn’t smile at your beautiful face?” I ask sweetly.

“Could it be the sex-on-a-stick outside shirtless fixing the shed?” She looks out the window as she moans. “God, men like him aren’t real. They’re sent to toy with us.”


Looking behind her, I suppress a groan. She’ll take that as something it’s not. But seriously, holy shit. His back is taut and the muscles ripple as he lifts the two-by-four and then nails it into place. His arms flex and I gawk. He wipes his brow as the sweat trickles down his face and I fight the urge to keep looking. I turn my head but my eyes stay glued to him.

Reanell clears her throat and stares at me with her brow raised. “Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

“Nothing. What?” I pretend to sound confused at what she saw.

“Right. Nothing at all.”

“Nope. Nothing to see here.”

She looks back out the window. “There’s plenty to see my friend. Plenty indeed.”

I need to flip the attention. “Did anyone ever tell you you’re a horny housewife who needs a job?”

“A few times. Mason appreciates that I can shop without buying.”

I laugh and slap her arm. “Yeah, it’s about the only thing you don’t buy.”

She looks away and snorts. “Accurate. I’m also not buying your diversion. I saw you eating him alive.”

“No, I’m not even ready to go there. Let’s change the subject, okay?”

“No, not until you admit he’s hot.”

“Why does it matter if I think he’s hot?” I scoff.

Rea smiles and puts her hands on her hips. “Admit it.”

“Fine, I won’t deny it. He’s hot.”

“I knew you thought so,” she smirks.

I roll my eyes and smother the desire to choke her.

“Besides, if you did deny it, I would be worried,” she laughs. “How about while Aarabelle’s sleeping, we can do some stuff around here?”

I look at the mantel and my heart falters. I can feel him everywhere and I’m not ready to lose that. Already I’ve lost so much. Just pulling into my drive without his car there will be one more reminder. Loss and anger are at war in me. I’m mad at everyone and everything, but then I have to go on day by day. I don’t get to sulk and be sad because there’s a tiny baby that we made together. I close my eyes and think of him.

“Sure,” the word falls out.

We spend the next few hours cleaning papers and things around the house. I’m sweating and huffing from carrying all the boxes up and down the stairs. It’s been a long day and I look like hell but feel a little lighter. We’ve got things organized, and as much as I want to stop, I also want to keep going. I worry the strength I’ve harnessed will be lost tomorrow.

Before I can tell Rea my plan to keep on, she looks over and frowns. “I need to get home. Mason wants dinner early and I want a new purse.”

She’s a mess. “How do those go hand in hand?”

“He likes to eat. I like Michael Kors. If I don’t get a bag, he can starve,” she winks and grabs her purse.

“Sounds perfectly reasonable,” I reply with a huff. “I’m going to finish up. Thank you for today.”

Reanell kisses my cheek. “I’m proud of you. I know this isn’t easy, but it was time.”

“Thanks, you know that it’s been seven months today?”

“Since he died?”

“Yeah, crazy, right? Aarabelle is so small to me that I forget.”

Reanell sits on the couch with her purse in her arms. “I think we all do. You were pregnant when he died and then Aara kind of shifted time. It’s a good thing though. She’s given you a way to keep moving.”

“Maybe.”

“And Liam being around making you do stuff helps too, no?”

I think about what she says and try to come up with an argument. But it’s true. Liam has forced me to handle everything in the last few weeks. In a short amount of time he’s taken care of months’ worth of things.

“He’s helped a lot.”

“I better bounce, but I’m glad you’re doing well. You look better too.”

“Thanks, I think.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she winks.

I nod and she leaves. Aarabelle is taking her afternoon nap in her playpen. She ate and played for a little and now I have about an hour before she’ll need to eat again. I decide to hang the curtains in the living room that have been sitting in the closet for months.

Getting all my tools out, I grab the ladder and mark the spots where the new rod will go. I can do this. Take that, Martha Stewart. Once everything is up, I get the screw and it won’t go in. I try again and the screw falls and I fumble with the drill. “Damn it,” I curse as it falls to the floor. Grabbing the drill, I hear a laugh behind me. “Am I amusing you, Dreamboat?” I ask as I try to align the screw. I know using his call sign pisses him off . . . which is why I said it. Aaron used to lose his shit when I called him Papa Smurf.

“I think you want to wound me.”

“Never. I’m just . . .” I struggle with the stupid screw that refuses to go in. “Stupid damn drill is broken!”