Page 89 of The Cul-de-Sac War

It didn’t take but two minutes back inside his kitchen to make Chip drop the plates into the drying rack and snatch his keys off the counter.

He drove straight to Ashleigh’s house without calling. No text. No heads-up to set her mind spinning.

Oh, the transformation on Ashleigh’s face as she opened the door was painful. It took only seconds for the initial look of pleasant surprise to shift to a crease of concern above her sky-blue eyes.

But he had to say it to her. Because he had been right in what he’d said to Bree.

You need to keep on moving until you find the one who makes you want to stop.

And he had never quite stopped for Ashleigh, though she had waited patiently at the door for him all those nights while he worked, had waited patiently for him every step of the way.

She wasn’t meant for him, but for someone who appreciated her much, much more. Who didn’t just know she was wonderful but felt it.

That was not how Ashleigh saw it, and she made this painfully, tearfully clear over the next two hours. After he explained to her the reasons they should break it off—she insisted on hearing each one—the full force of Ashleigh’s oratorical skills came out as she paced and talked, wearing down a line on her Persian rug.

Several times key phrases such as “time I invested in you” and “waste all that work” came up, but he didn’t interrupt. Eventually she ran out of words, and he ran out of apologies, and she did the only thing a respectable southern belle like herself would do: wrap herself around his neck with one hard, final hug, peck him on the cheek, straighten her blouse, and tell him she appreciated the strength he demonstrated in talking freely with her.

Honestly, she was going to make a terrific senator’s wife.

Back at home, Chip lay on his back in the quiet of his room, the same milky moon watching him from the window. Quietly he lowered his hand and rubbed Russell’s ear.

Russell inched his head up and leaned into Chip’s palm, then dropped down again on his paws.

For several minutes, he lay there in the quiet, thinking about the bid and the Monday morning meeting he’d finally secured with a bank to talk about a credit line. Thinking about his crew and the ongoing schedule changes and needs. Thinking about the bathroom wall he had meant to paint that evening. Thinking about the strange way a man had to keep living in this world, making plans and goals and priorities, knowing how fleeting it all was. Thinking about Jake. Thinking about Bree.

Chip pushed his sleeping bag off and planted his bare feet on the cold hardwood. Russell lifted his head while Chip went over to the new dresser, where a legal pad lay open in the center next to a Sharpie. He uncapped it. Wrote the message.

SLEEP WELL

As he settled back down on the mattress, his eyes didn’t stray from her large, dark window.

He watched the window as the minutes on his watch ticked on and the milky moon rose higher in the sky.

Eventually Russell fell asleep.

Chip’s own eyes started to take longer and longer blinks.

And then, from one moment when his eyes closed to the next when they opened again, her response was there.

YOU TOO

Chapter 17

Bree

“What did you do?”

Bree opened her eyes slowly, blinking as light flooded her retinas. Slowly, she registered the hands on the hips of wildly flared bell-bottoms. The keys, with attached donut keychain, clutched in one hand. Her gaze lifted as she watched Evie’s chest rise with an impatient breath. By the time her eyes lifted to Evie’s face, she didn’t expect any less than the heavy purple-lipstick frown.

Evie put more effort into her scowl and furrowed her brow deeper, but she only succeeded in looking a little more like a peeved squirrel.

Bree winced as she raised herself on her elbow. She began rubbing her eyes with one hand. “What’s wrong, Evie?”

“I’ve got a car blocked in and a meeting in ten minutes. And I’m not sure exactly what’s going on, but I have a feeling you can tell me.”

Evie moved over to the window and pulled back the sheer white curtain. She pointed. “Tell me, Bree, might you know why our street is covered with farm trucks and chickens?”

As Bree crossed to the window, the events of the evening before sprang into her mind. In reverse.