Page 34 of The Ex-Best Thing
“Anne. The woman staying in Colby’s house. I just—she’s beautiful, man, and that’s with her concussion-glasses on.”
“She is.” My stomach swirls. Maybe I need to eat something, too. I pull out a bowl and my favorite homemade granola, which makes me think of Bree and her Captain Crunch. Is that what she ate this morning? And probably will again for lunch? I don’t know anyone who puts cereal away like she does. Maybe I should cook something hearty and invite her over—no.
Stop, Ben. It’s not your job to take care of her.
“Which is not why I invited her to my house for dinner.” Hepeers at me through clear green eyes, pushing back his golden hair. “I was wing-manning you, but it was poorly executed.”
I set the milk on the counter and look at him. “Wing-manning?”
“The act of being a wing man. It’s real.”
Shaking my head, I put away the milk and sit by him at the island with my cereal and my Red Bull. I guess I can’t worry about Bree’s nutrition when I’m putting this into my body. The fight has left me, and I don’t have the urge to toss Peter in the ocean anymore. “She’s not sticking around.”
Peter shrugs. “Who cares? You weren’t a total wreck when that woman left last summer. What was her name?”
“Shelby.”
“Yeah, Shelby. She was chill. You had a good few weeks, then you moved on. Even with my sister, you didn’t act the way you did yesterday with Anne. After I ran into you on the beach, I kind of figured you guys were already…I don’t know…seeing each other or something.”
Great. I’ve been obvious.
He shakes his head. “You seem so into Anne, but I know you wouldn’t bring her to my birthday without, like, permission.”
“Yeah, probably not.” I rub a hand over my tired, gritty eyes.
“When we left yesterday, I worried you’d think I was trying to slide in there or something.”
He’s right. I totally thought that. Now I feel like a grade-A tool for not immediately thinking better of one of my closest friends. I didn’t meet Peter on my own. Colby introduced us after I moved to town. We hit it off quickly, and now I can say he’s someone I can rely on for anything, independent of his longstanding friendship with my cousin. I should have assumed better of him.
He can probably read this on my face, because a grin spreads over his face. “Now you don’t have to whoop me.”
I laugh, then fill my mouth with granola. He came herebecause he trusts me, so I need to respect him enough to return the sentiment. “Anne isn’t a tourist. Well, she is, but not to me. I’ve known her since we were in high school.”
Peter’s grin falters. “Seriously? Did she come here to see you?”
“She had no idea I’d be here, actually. She came for the beach.” I can’t tell him everything. Those aren’tmydetails to trust him with. But I can tell him my history with her—my side of our story. “We ran into each other when she arrived, and our friendship picked up like ten years hadn’t passed.”
Peter whistles. “I thought it seemed a little fast for you.”
“It probably was. She only got here four days ago, and we haven’t really spent much time apart. It won’t go anywhere, but it’s been nice catching up with her.”
My doorbell rings, echoing through the house, and I immediately look at my reflection in the microwave, trying to get a gauge on the state of my hair. I’m sure I look as tired as I feel.
“I’ll get it if you want to?—”
“Thanks,” I say, jumping from the stool and rushing to my bathroom. I splash cold water on my face and run a comb through my hair. It takes a few minutes to pull on something clean. Peter’s laugh is coming from the kitchen when I leave my room, and I stop short to find him pouring hot water over a tea bag for my grandma.
Disappointment tugs at me, but I immediately squash it down.
“Hi, Grandma.” I circle the island to give her a hug.
Peter exchanges a look with me behind her back, full of questions. The thing is, Nancy Rhodes doesn’t leave her house much. Like, rarely ever, if at all. If she needs something, I pick it up for her. The bunco group comes to her house. Rose takes lunch over twice a week to watch trashy TV and chat about townsfolk, and Colby and I usually eat with her once or twice as well.
Her social health isn’t lacking, but seeing her outside of her house is so rare, it’s usually only for a really good reason.
Even then, she doesn’t stay long. To see her sitting at my table, Peter carrying her a cup of steaming tea, means one of two things: she’s trying some new sort of exposure therapy, or someone has died.
Given the concern in her bright blue eyes, it’s probably the latter.
