Page 32 of Now and Then

But Navy quickly cuts in. “What aren’t you telling us?”

“Why do I feel like I’m in the hot seat today?” I inhale through my nose and release it slowly. “It really sucks.”

“It does,” Navy says, her tone firm, “but you’re going to sit your butt in it and talk to us.”

I know I won’t get out of here without telling them something.

I take another steadying breath. No one but Hunter knows what I’m about to tell them. “Brandon was the only man I was with who I ever truly allowed myself to lean on, the only relationship I didn’t try to control. I just wish I could have seen that we were a mistake.” I blink rapidly to keep my tears from falling.

“Why was it a mistake?” Greer prompts.

A shrill ringing from my purse breaks the heaviness surrounding our table. I fumble, pulling out my phone, and wipe away a few errant tears.

“Hello,” I practically yell into the phone. “This is Sutton Bradley.”

“Sutton, this is Mrs. Weeks. We headed out to the property a little early to poke around before the storm rolls in.”

“Oh, that’s great. I can be there in fifteen minutes.” I end the call, slide my phone back into my hand bag, and stand from the table. I shrug. “Duty calls.”

Navy rolls her eyes. “This is not over, Sutton. And you’re in luck because girl’s night is Friday.”

“That’s right,” Greer says. “I’ve got everything ready for us to make your famous lasagna. You can tell us ev-er-y-thing then.”

I look away, bending down to kiss Rowan’s forehead. “Have fun on your field trip.”

His little arms wrap around my waist, and he buries his face in my chest. “Love you, Miss Sutton.”

“Love you, too, Row.”

“Sutton . . .” Navy has a stern tone.

“Yes, Navy,” I grumble. “We’ll talk. I promise.”

I give each of them a quick hug, grab my raincoat, and sprint to my car. I’ve avoided this conversation with my best friends for as long as I can. And as scared as I am, it’s time I tell them everything.

Twenty minutes later, I’m pulling into the Johnson property, where the Weeks are currently peeking through the windows. I laugh when Mrs. Weeks motions for her husband to give her a boost. He links his fingers together and lowers them as a makeshift step.

“This should be interesting.” I take my time gathering the MLS listing, content to watch this train-wreck unfold.

Sure enough, the moment Mrs. Weeks puts her foot into Mr. Weeks’s waiting hands, he loses his balance completely. He topples, trips over a decorative boulder, and practically somersaults over the hedge.

“Henry!” Mrs. Weeks screeches.

She tries to get to him, but trips over the same rock and falls right on top of him. Neither can stop laughing nor are they making a move to get up. He takes her hand and pulls it to his lips, kissing her palm. I wish I could hear what he says that makes her smile bloom and bury her face in his chest.

I’d like to tell them how lucky they are to have found their person, but I know they know. The Weeks run Torn Pages, the independent bookshop in town, and have been married for well over thirty years. I try rubbing away the sudden pinch in my chest.

I open my car door and call out, “Are you two okay?”

Both smile at me as they try and fail multiple times to get up from the ground. I offer my hand, but my stiletto heels immediately sink into the moist soil.

“I should have chosen different shoes today,” I say through laughter.

“Oh dear, we’re a mess.” Mrs. Weeks makes it to her feet and pulls her husband up. She brushes off her hands and pants and turns to me. “Should we get started?”

We spend the next forty-five minutes exploring every inch. The Weeks have talked about starting a bed-and-breakfast for years, so when this property became available, I knew I had to show it to them. It’s a large farmhouse with multiple bedrooms and a huge downstairs that’s perfect for entertaining.

“This house is just wonderful, Sutton.” Mr. Weeks steps into the kitchen. “You’ve outdone yourself once again.” He motions with his head to the broken cabinets. “It’s in desperate need of updating though.”