More Than I Could (37)

“They’ll be there tomorrow. Lonnie insisted on driving, and he stops a lot to look at every touristy thing, which drives Maggie nuts.”

I chuckle.

“Well, honey, if all is good with you, I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Mom says. “My sleeping meds are about to kick in, and I’ll be on the line snoring in ten minutes if we don’t hang up.”

“That’s fine. I was checking in with you.”

“I’m glad you did. I love you. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Love you, Mom. Bye.”

“Bye, sweetie.”

I end the call and set the phone on the bed. As I put on my socks, my stomach starts to rumble.

“There are leftovers in the fridge if you’re a leftover kind of person,” Chase says. “Help yourself.”

My mind whips to the image of Chase peeling off his muddy shirt this evening. It was a striptease—his abs were revealed like a slowly opened present … inch by delicious inch.

Or it would’ve been if Kennedy wasn’t a few feet away taking her boots off, and I wasn’t trying desperately to appear oblivious to the porn beside me.

I shiver at the reminder of the heat in Chase’s eyes—a lascivious glimmer peeking through his otherwise unaffected demeanor. The slight licking of his lips. The way his fingers drifted along my lower back as he walked around me leaving a flurry of goose bumps in their wake.

And then the smirk over his shoulder as he walked away.

My stomach growls again. It wants food this time too, I think.

My socked feet hit the hardwood, and I grab my phone. With a few quick taps, Calista’s name appears on the screen.

“What’s up, buttercup?” she asks. “How are things in Mayberry?”

I laugh. “Peachwood Falls, but they’re fine.”

“Peachwood Falls is such a pretty name. I imagine antique shops and waterfalls. Old men sitting on benches, chatting about the good ole days.”

“Well, that’s a lovely little vision you’ve dreamed up, but that’s not quite reality.”

“Right. You always downplay your adventures. You describe things like they’re average and then send me pictures of paradise. Every. Freaking. Time.”

Grinning, I remember the dollars on the ceiling of The Wet Whistle. “I’ll send you some pictures tonight. You’ll see what I mean. This place is your typical Midwestern small town, but it is kinda quirky.”

“I love me some quirk.”

“Quirk can be fun.”

“So,” she says, sighing. “What’s it like? Are you okay? I haven’t checked in every hour like you probably expected, but my flight from Albuquerque got delayed, and I just got home.”

I open my bedroom door and peer down the hallway. The night-light next to the bathroom glows a soft orange hue. Otherwise, there’s no sign of life.

“Hang on,” I whisper, tiptoeing to the stairs. I descend them as fast as I can in socks on wood and turn toward the kitchen. “Okay. I can talk now.”

“Where are you?”

“I was coming downstairs for food.”

“Imagine that.”

I laugh, flipping on the kitchen light. The brightness makes me wince, and I cover my eyes until my pupils adjust.

“Why were you whispering?” she asks, chewing something with gusto. “Can’t you talk in the house, or is that, like, a rule? You’re there to be seen, not heard?”

“Hardly. I’ve talked and laughed a lot today, as a matter of fact.”

My cheeks ache from the smile etched on my face.

Talking about Chase to Calista is a whole hell of a lot different than it was talking about him with my mother. First of all, my mom would be thrilled if I told her that Chase and I fell madly in love and were getting married and having seventy babies. Second, she’s too invested because Chase is Maggie’s son. But third—that’s the part that keeps me from opening up too much.

Down deep, I know Mom blames herself for my singleness. Everything in her life reminds her of one of her various relationship disasters. Even me.

Whether she thinks I’ve learned to avoid similar situations by proxy or have been burned enough through her failed relationships, I don’t know. But the disappointment and regret in her eyes when she looks at me are always there.

I can’t share my dating life—or my life when it involves any man, for that matter—with her. It gets her hopes up that maybe she hasn’t screwed me up. And when that relationship, friendship, or situation ends, she’s devastated all over again.

“I like the sound of that,” Calista says. “Continue with details. Lots of them.”

“FaceTime me real quick. I’m going to heat chicken and rice from dinner.”

The screen buzzes. I grab the food from the refrigerator and accept the video. Calista’s freckled face smiles at me.

“Hey, gorgeous,” she says, making a kissing face at the phone. “You look radiant. Did you exfoliate?”

I burst out laughing. “Stop it.”

“Fine. I’ll keep my compliments to myself. Talk.”

“I’m going to set you here.” I prop the phone up against the toaster. “Can you see me?”

“Yup. Talk.”

I glance over my shoulder. “I need to keep my voice down because Chase and Kennedy are upstairs in bed. So don’t shriek or yell at your cat or anything, okay?”