Mo snuggled into the “marshmallow fluffy”—her words, not Aisha’s—bed in Jo’s guest bedroom, and her eyes closed the instant her head hit the pillow. Aisha was sure she’d be asleep in seconds if she wasn’t already. Still, she hovered for a moment, watching Mo’s breaths slow and lengthen, taking in the occasional flutter of her long lashes. She pressed one more kiss to her forehead.
When she finally made her way to Jo’s living room, boisterous laughter told her the informal meeting to discuss Caren’s upcoming art show was already in full swing.
There was a large space beside Sam open on the couch. Aisha pretended not to see it and hoped Sam was focussed enough on her discussion with Caren and Audrey, the Art Gallery director, that she’d be oblivious and not feel snubbed. She plunked down on the floor beside Katelyn—and noticed Katelyn had her tablet with her. It could only mean one thing.
“They’re done? You’re ready?”
“They are—and yep, ready as I’ll ever be.” She darted a shy glance at Caren, who was laughing and saying she’d suggested to Jo that they skip offering food altogether and just go heavy on the wine and spirits. “After all, it might make people more receptive to my show.”
“I don’t think Caren will mind if I steal a few minutes to update you.”
“She totally won’t.” Aisha laughed. “I doubt she’ll even notice, so let me see already! I’ve been stalking your Instagram, but you never share enough.”
Katelyn unlocked her screen and obediently handed over her tablet. As Aisha started to scroll, Katelyn leaned in close too, peering at the rolling images as if they were totally new to her, not like she was their creator.
“Awesome,” Aisha breathed. And they were. Each one of Katelyn’s beautifully displayed designs was more gorgeous or more intricate or just . . . more . . . than the one before.
Aisha stopped swiping. “Oh, wow. Just . . . wow. Mark this one sold!”
Katelyn’s bell-like laugh tinkled. “I knew you’d like that one.”
“Like doesn’t even begin to describe it!” It was a mermaid cut formal gown with a court train, constructed from pieces of worn-soft denim in various shades of blue so faded the dress almost appeared silver in some of the photos. It was absolutely stunning—yet managed to be romantic and bad ass at the same time. One of Aisha’s favorite combos.
“Have you had a marriage proposal I don’t know about?”
Aisha scoffed. “Come on! You know me better than that. Like I need a wedding to wear a wedding gown?”
She studied the dress for another minute, then moved to a series of 70s inspired flared jeans of various widths from a gentle sweep, barely more than boot cut, to a crazy wide “elephant bell” as Katelyn referred to them.
“It’s hard to believe my Etsy shop is a go. It’s really happening.”
“Yeah, it’s cray.” Aisha had meant to say crazy, but a lump suddenly formed in her throat, bungling her speech. She swallowed hard. “I’m so happy for you. It’s wonderful.” Both statements were completely true. As was the next one. “But I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry? Why sorry?”
Aisha shrugged. “That, you know, I never got any of my big plans off the ground. That I’m not your vendor. That I wasted your time.”
“No way. Don’t you dare feel bad. We were both constantly brainstorming and daydreaming. I always knew that, and when you do have your store—because it will happen—I’ll just have one more place to carry my goods.”
“You bet,” Aisha agreed, but if anything, her impatience with herself was only intensified, not softened, by Katelyn’s assurances.
“In a lot of ways, this is best for me right now anyway. I can update my shop as I have new things ready, but without the pressure of worrying I’m letting you down stock-wise if I’m working slower—and I’ll do a pop-up shop whenever I have a surplus. Plus, flexibility really suits an exciting little change in my household.”
Katelyn’s hands, which had been flapping animatedly as she discussed her launch plans, rested on her deceptively flat stomach.
It took Aisha a good second to figure out what her friend was saying—and then she shrieked. “What? Really?”
Katelyn nodded, her cheeks pink with pleasure at Aisha’s obvious delight. “She—or he—might be a Halloween baby.”
Aisha wrapped her arms around Katelyn’s small frame and hugged hard.
Katelyn laughed. “I take it you’re happy for us?”
Aisha could only nod, and then Jo appeared beside them, a bottle of shiraz and a newly filled glass of wine in hand. She handed the glass to Aisha—who only then registered that Katelyn was drinking a murky green smoothie, not wine. But then again, Katelyn was much more of a health nut than the rest of them, so Aisha wasn’t necessarily clueless for not making the connection earlier.
“Hi, you!” Jo exclaimed. “I’m glad you could make it.”
Aisha quirked an eyebrow. “Of course, I made it. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Sam thought we might lose out to the lure of cute boys—and cuter puppies.”
Aisha shook her head and Katelyn teased, “Oooo, she’s not saying anything! That means she did consider standing us up.”
Aisha was fuddled for a moment. And embarrassed. She actually had considered blowing off tonight in favor of hanging with Jase and the dogs—but she’d decided she needed this more. Obviously, she’d made the wrong choice!
“If you had ditched us, who could blame you? Those little fur balls! I was tempted to myself.” Jo’s merriment fell away. “I don’t know . . . Maybe it’s time to get another dog. I was so sad after saying goodbye to Hoover, I was positive I didn’t want another one. Now I’m not so sure.”
“Only you would be tempted by the dogs, not the men,” Sam called from across the room.
Aisha pantomimed gagging and Katelyn giggled.
Jo went around the room with another bottle of wine and a platter of Bruschetta. “I thought it would be fun to enjoy a test run of some of the tidbits we’ll be serving on Caren’s big night.”
Aisha lifted her glass for a refill, surprised at how fast the first glass went down, and helped herself to three of the crispy toasted delights. “Mmmm,” she said through her first crunchy bite. “Delicious.”
Jo smiled. “We have Caprese salad inspired skewers too. I’ll bring them out shortly.”
Caren stood up and raised her glass. “Before anyone gets too deep in their cups, I want to thank you, Jo—so much—for all the ways you support me. Not everyone would get behind their wacky mother-in-law’s pet projects the way you do, and I want you to know how deeply appreciative I am to have you in my life.”
“Hear, hear,” Aisha cheered in agreement, while Jo, in typical Jo fashion, tried to insist she didn’t do anything at all. Finally, she gave in. “Thank you, Caren. It’s my pleasure to help—and if you ever feel the need to gift someone a painting, you know how much I love your work.”
They all laughed and toasted Jo, then Caren lifted her glass again and made a sweeping gesture with her free hand to encompass the whole group. “And the rest of you, so busy, I know, yet still so generous and kind . . .” Caren’s eyes shone with a light mist of sentiment. “Thank you all in advance for helping out at the opening. Jo insisted none of you minded, that it wasn’t a big deal, but to me, it’s huge, so thank you.”
“Like Jo said, you’re very welcome—any time,” Katelyn said, then added, “Do we get a sneak preview since we’re helping out?”
Caren laughed like Katelyn was hilarious.
“I think we can take that as a big fat no,” Jo said and the whole group giggled again, all well aware of Caren’s almost strange secrecy about her painting. “But I have to say, I’m super curious about your new work. Callum says you’ve outgrown your studio and spread into your garage—and that it looks more like an electrician’s shop than an artist’s workspace.”
“How intriguing!” Caren’s delight seemed genuine but detached, like the observation was made about some other artist not her. It was abundantly clear she wasn’t going to take the bait and give any clues about what they could expect to view.
With the full bulk of the catering, including the menu creation, in Jo and Callum’s capable hands, the remaining details surrounding the gallery show were quick to sort.
Aisha would not only run the bar, she’d help with serving and cleanup. Katelyn was acting as art handler and assisting with staging and lighting. Jo made a crack about whether they’d be blindfolded while they worked in order to prevent them from seeing the paintings ahead of time.
“I’ve actually considered it,” Caren deadpanned.
The night was not exactly young, as the ravished platters of appetizers and empty wine bottles clearly revealed, but was by no means old, when Jo suggested they play a game. Aisha cheered. Her parents hadn’t been into board games, and she’d only learned upon coming to live at River’s Sigh how much she enjoyed them. Caren and Audrey departed, and within a short time, the other guests—friends of Jo’s and Sam’s from town—begged off because of early morning starts.
With only the four of them left, Aisha, Jo, Sam, and Katelyn, Scrabble was quickly decided on, despite a small groan from Sam. They all knew she enjoyed word games at least as much, if not more, than they did.
Jo poured three round-bellied glasses of port, Aisha squealed with glee—and everyone laughed at her enthusiasm. But seriously, what went better with Scrabble than an old man’s drink like port? It was too bad cigars were so gross. A glass of port, a cigar and Scrabble would be amazing. Aisha wasn’t much of a drinker usually, but she did enjoy the chummy excesses of girls’ night. Katelyn had—of all things!—a mug of Ovaltine.
Aisha giggled uncontrollably. “You make port seem like the drink of youngsters!”
“Youngsters? Who says youngsters nowadays?”
Now Sam and Jo giggled too. It was very possible that all of them, except Katelyn, of course, were a little hammered.
They each picked a tile to see who’d go first—Sam with the letter B.
There was a silent minute or two as they each scrutinized their tiles, then Sam deliberated out loud. “Hmmm, what to start us out with, what, what, what? Maybe cat or hat . . . or maybe I’ll go all out with cats, plural.”
Jo groaned. “Please tell us you have something longer than four letters.”
Sam assumed a Southern drawl. “Well, since I do live to please y’all, maybe I’ll lay down this itty-bitty baby. Toenail. And in a sentence: Toenail. Jo is as funny as an ingrown toenail—something she could prevent if she’d ever get a pedicure.”
Sam set her tiles down with quick clicks, counting aloud as she did, one, two, three—all the way to seven—then sat back. It took a micro-second for what had happened to sink in, then Aisha, Jo, and Katelyn simultaneously exploded.
“No! Are you kidding me?”
“Rigged. Totally rigged.”
“That’s it, I quit!” The last comment was Aisha, but she was totally joking. Sam getting an extra fifty points right at the start for a seven-letter word would just make the game that much more interesting.
“Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful—and brilliant.”
“We don’t,” Jo muttered, her eyes twinkling with an old joke that, she’d once explained to Aisha, dated back to a makeup commercial from their teen years. “We hate you because you’re a bitch.”
“Yep,” Sam said with great satisfaction, “A bitch who is going to kick your butts.”
The game progressed—digressed?—from there, and it was a blast, except for one thing. Scrabble leant itself well to gabbing.
“Come on,” Jo cajoled at one point. “Seriously, Aish. Tell us what’s going on with Jase. You’re with him all day, every day—and on your days off.”
“Nothing,” she insisted and tried to figure out what to play. Suddenly she plunked down four tiles. Pals. It was a super lame word, but it made her grin. “Like the word says. We’re just friends.”
All three of her friends-slash-family smiled at her in an infuriatingly knowing manner.
“Just give me my points and stop thinking what you’re thinking!”
“And just what is it that you think we’re thinking?” Katelyn queried, adding Aisha’s dismal score.
“That that’s what each of you guys said once upon a time. Jo was ‘just friends’ with Callum. You were ‘just friends’ with Brian. Sam and my dad are probably still ‘just friends’ if you listen to him.”
Sam laughed. “Now I need to ask him what he does say.”
“My point is that some people can say they’re only friends and actually mean it.”
“That is a true fact,” Jo agreed in a maddeningly cheerful way, “but for the sake of inquiring minds and all that . . . if one of them did happen to be more than a friend, who’d be the lucky guy? We can’t decide. Jase or Colton?”
Ah, crap. They really weren’t going to let this drop? She wished she’d had less wine. She didn’t want to talk about this. She really didn’t. But she also did—and that was definitely down to the shiraz. Or maybe the port.
“I don’t know. Ever since Evan . . .”
Dammit! Both Sam and Jo went absolutely silent and still, listening intently. It was her own fault they were making such a big deal about this. Never talking about the creep made him seem like a bigger deal than he was in her past.
She shrugged almost angrily. “You know what? Never mind. I didn’t come out of her uterus”—she jerked her chin towards Sam—“for nothing. I refuse to answer based on the fact that anything I say will be used as fuel for more of these kinds of annoying conversations.” She took a large swallow of wine. “But that said? Colton? Come on. Give me some credit. I have better sense than to fall for a man-whore.” Or she did now, anyway.
Katelyn, who still referred to some types of conversation and words as “rough talk,” looked uncomfortable, but Sam nodded approvingly. “That’s my girl.”
Normally that kind of comment from Sam would make Aisha want to pull her hair out, but tonight, strangely, she found it comforting or affirming or something. And before she could censor herself, the following question popped out of her mouth. She couldn’t help it. She really wanted to know.
“So you don’t like Colton, but you do like Jase?”
Sam looked startled but rallied quickly. “I have nothing against Colton, per se—but I think your take seems accurate. He appears to . . . appreciate . . . any and every female. He’s also way too aware of how pretty he is. Jase, on the other hand . . . definitely more interesting. Still waters and all that. At first I thought he was all brawn and no brains, but I’ve overheard him talking to Colton—they’re both different, looser or more at ease or something, when no one else is around.”
Or when just I’m around, Aisha thought with a smidgeon of pride. Then she wanted to smack herself. She was the girl who fit in with the cute boys. Goodie! What was she, twelve?
“And Callum likes him, says he’s intelligent—not a compliment he hands out often.”
“What about my dad? Does he like Jase all right?”
Sam’s animated face lost all expression. “Why wouldn’t he? They’ve hardly met.”
Hardly met. That was true because Charlie was always conveniently busy whenever Aisha invited him for coffee when Jase would be around—but it also totally sidestepped the question. Aisha wasn’t fooled, and she hadn’t been kidding when she said she hadn’t come out of Sam’s uterus for nothing. They did, whether Aisha liked it or not, have similarities she couldn’t deny. One was bluntness. By assuming a poker face before answering, then skirting the direct question when she did respond, Sam had tipped her hand: Aisha’s dad didn’t like Jase. But why not?
Sam was saying something else now. “But in the end, it doesn’t matter what other people think of him, not me, not your dad. What do you think of him?”
She was saved from having to answer because Katelyn grabbed her arm and used her to help hoist herself to her feet like she weighed four hundred pounds or something—which was hilarious because Katelyn was tiny as anything and the bean she was carrying wasn’t even showing yet.
“Sorry,” she panted. “Pathetic, I know, but I’ve hit the wall. I’m asleep on my feet. I can’t wait till my second trimester. If this little one’s anything like my others, it’ll be easier times then.” She grinned a little. “Unless the conversation is going to turn to sexy talk. Then I could probably get a second wind.”
“Eeeek,” Aisha said. “Keep your sexy talk for Brian. He’ll appreciate it more.”
Sam and Jo laughed.
“Oh yes, get me home to Brian. Good idea.”
“Let me guess? First trimester makes you extra horny too?”
“No,” Katelyn said seriously. “I’m always ‘extra horny’ as you so delicately put it—but it is extra fun when you don’t have to worry about getting knocked up—again.” She winked.
Aisha grinned, happiness welling through her. It was so great to see Katelyn so free. Free to be silly, free to joke about anything, free to just be herself. She knew firsthand that Katelyn hadn’t always, even remotely, had the freedom to talk off the top of her head, without analyzing everything she said, carefully trying to avoid setting off her ex.
Aisha gathered the empty container that had held Katelyn’s crazy delicious black bean brownies. “I’ll walk you out.”