The Best of Forevers

by Hargrove, A. M.

“Basic necessities.”

  “Oh, come on. Nobody has granite countertops as a basic necessity.”

  They’re actually quartz, but I don’t tell her. She wanders around and I hear her little exclamations of, “Oh, my God,” and, “This is awesome.” When she resurfaces, she says, “I love your bathroom. That shower is so cool.”

  “I actually did the tile work in there.”

  “How do you know how to do that?”

  “I’m on a ton of job sites and have a few connections. They taught me. It’s pretty easy, actually.”

  Handing her a glass of wine, I pour myself a scotch and we sit down on the sofa.

  “How often do you come here?” she asks.

  “Almost every night if I can. I’ve not come a lot lately because …” I gesture toward my rear end.

  “Yeah, I know.” A lovely pink flush flourishes over her cheeks. “I’m sorry I’ve cut into one of your pleasures.”

  “Nothing to worry about. I’ll have plenty of time to work on this stuff.”

  “But still, that was really stupid of me to shoot you in the butt.”

  I take a drink and swirl the scotch around in my mouth. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why all the alarms at your grandmother’s. It seems like a pretty safe place out there.”

  Her gaze immediately breaks contact with mine as she fidgets with her dress, picking at the thin fabric. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out this is a taboo subject.

  “I’m a great confidant. If you tell me something, I’ll take it to my grave. I swear to God.” I hold up three fingers, giving her the Boy Scout Oath.

  She flicks her gaze over to me, then away again. “It has to do with Cody’s father. We’re not sure if he’ll try to take him back.”

  “I thought he was permanently out of the picture—as in deceased.”

  “That’s just it. We don’t exactly know for sure. I don’t want to get a phone call from Mimi and her tell me—guess what, Cody’s dad came and took him away.”

  “Do you have legal custody?”

  She puffs out her cheeks. “Of course. But that doesn’t prevent people from kidnapping their own kids.”

  She makes a good point.

  “We don’t know who his father is. Sasha never told me. It could be you, for all I know. What I do know is Cody’s mom was whiter than Casper in the middle of summer and had the palest blue eyes you’ve ever seen. Cody’s skin is darker than mine and I’m olive skinned. His eyes are dark brown and he has hair to match. So what does that tell us?”

  “That I have gray eyes and can’t be his dad?”

  “Funny guy, you are.” She fists me on the shoulder.

  “Were you close to his mom then?”

  Her throat bobs as she swallows and pulls her lower lip in. She doesn’t answer immediately, so I don’t push her.

  “We were like sisters. Super tight. Ever since we were in kindiegarden, as Cody would say.” A gentle laugh rolls out of her. Her fingers pick at an imaginary piece of lint, then she’s quiet for a minute. I’m getting ready to change the subject when she begins to share her emotionally charged story.

  “Sasha and I were like you and me—from opposite ends of the financial spectrum. Her family had lots and lots of money, still does. You know the area where Mimi lives? All the other land around her has been sold off and developed into fancy McMansions. That’s how I ended up growing up with Sasha.”

  I know exactly what she’s talking about. I’ve wondered how her grandmother had retained their property, or rather why she’d chosen not to sell when she most likely could have gotten a pretty penny for it.

  “We met as little kids and it was an instant friendship, but her parents weren’t too pleased with it because I wasn’t good enough. We somehow found ways around it. As it turned out, Sasha wasn’t good enough for them either. Nothing she did pleased them. She eventually ended up on drugs. I guess to numb the feelings of rejection. Nothing Mimi or I did helped. You can’t put a Band-Aid on a gaping wound gushing blood.”

  The air I’m holding in my lungs begins to ache, so I blow it out. I hadn’t realized I’d stopped breathing. I wasn’t expecting her to open up like this, but I’m glad she finally trusts me enough to do so. It’s crazy because Special just described my life. Except I had the blessing of being sent away to school.

  Gently, I lay my hand over hers. “You did all you could for her.”

  She shakes her head, almost shuddering.

  “What happened to her?” I ask.

  She lifts her head and chocolate-colored eyes marred with pain steal my breath away. There is something else hidden in their depths. Fear? Terror? I’m not sure.

  She blows out a breath and her next words are puzzling. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “No, I …” She jumps up and paces, stops, then throws her hands up. “It’s crazy, I know, but we don’t know what happened to her.”

  “You mean she disappeared?”

  “No, not that. She’s definitely dead. It was an explosion in a warehouse.” She looks off into the distance, I imagine thinking about her friend being in a warehouse like she is right now.

  “Don’t worry. There aren’t any explosives here. And it’s rigged with both an extensive fire alarm system and sprinkler system. I had the best installed, rest assured.” I ease her mind because I can already see the wheels spinning. “Back to your friend—they know for sure it was her?”

  “Definitely. She was ID’d by dental records.”

  “And that’s how you ended up with Cody?”

  “Yeah. Sasha’s parents didn’t want anything to do with him. She knew it ahead of time, and in her will she designated me as his legal guardian if anything happened to her.”

  “Why wouldn’t her parents want him?”

  She grimaces and says, “For the same reason your parents wouldn’t want him.”

  “Her parents are dicks too?”

  “Yes. Stupid, ridiculous assholes. She wasn’t married or he wasn’t rich enough. Whatever.” She takes a breath and presses her hand over her chest. “That kid is my heart.”

  “He’s lucky to have you.”

  “Oh, you’re so wrong about that. I’m the lucky one.”

  My mouth curves upward in response. “I believe I’m lucky too.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I picked the right bar to pass out in that night. Not only did you end up saving my life, but I got myself a damn good friend in the process.”

  Chapter 23

  Special

  Weston throws me off guard when he asks about Sasha. But I trust him. The honesty in his eyes tells me it’s okay. I don’t tell him everything because I need to discuss it with Mimi and Jeb first. If Weston wanted to kill Cody or me, he would’ve done it that day he came to the farm. He also could’ve pressed charges after I shot him, but he did neither. I have every reason to trust him.

  The more I learn about him, the more I like him. He’s nothing like his family. How on Earth did he survive that awful environment and become his own person? That’s another testament to his strength of character. The fact that he works for Habitat is really special and something else I admire.

  “Special, where have you gone?”

  Pulling myself out of my daydream, I answer, “I’m lucky to have you as my friend too, Weston.”

  When the man smiles, he makes my freaking knees weak. Jesus, help me.

  “Hey, do you like to dance?” he asks.

  “No, I’m not very good.”

  “I can lead. I took dance lessons, remember?” He makes a dorky face.

  A very unladylike snort rips out of me, and I cover my mouth with my hand. “Sorry.”

  “Go ahead. Laugh. But when you see me bust a move, you’ll appreciate those lessons.”

  “Bust away, baby. I’m ready to be impressed.”

  That sexy mouth curls into an even sexier grin. “Get ready then.” He ta
kes off his jacket and tie, then stands there with his arms outstretched, waiting for me to walk into their embrace.

  How can I refuse him? “All right, but I’m warning you. Your toes are in terrible danger with me around.”

  “No, they’re not. First thing, eyes up here.” He uses two fingers to draw my attention up to his eyes.

  “How can I do that? I need to watch your feet.”

  “No, you don’t. I’ll guide you with each step.”

  Then I chuckle. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Music.”

  He pulls out his phone, taps a song, and “Save the Last Dance for Me” by Michael Bublé begins to play through the speakers. He wraps an arm around my waist as I put my own on his shoulder. My hand rests in his as we move across the floor as one. He wasn’t fooling around. The man can dance. Really dance. For once in my life, I actually feel like a princess.

  “On your toes,” and, “Don’t look at your feet,” are about the only things he says. We glide as though we’re on ice. His arms steer me, not pushing or pulling at all. It’s as if I were born to dance. When the song ends, I’m giddy.

  “Another,” I beg.

  He slows it down this time with “You Don’t Know Me.” The lyrics sink in as he turns, dips, then pulls me close in his arms. When he does, I get the true meaning of romance. My heart strikes a beat against my ribs, while my spine tingles where his hand touches me. As Michael Bublé ends the song with— you’ll never know the one who loves you so, well you don’t know me—he stops and his mouth seeks out mine.

  I don’t resist, couldn’t if I tried. The truth is, I melt in his arms as heat fires deep within my core. It’s something new to me. Before I know it, I’m pulling him closer and our kiss turns into something different. Something unexpected.

  He breaks it off, surprising me.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen.” He takes a step back, but our gazes are still locked.

  Frowning, I wonder if I pushed too hard. Maybe scared him off by my reaction. Hell, it scared me a little. Okay, a lot. I press my hand to my mouth.

  “You’re not going to hold that against me, are you?”

  “Wait, you think I’m mad because we kissed?” I ask.

  His lids half-close. “Isn’t that what we agreed on? That we’d just be friends?”

  Sighing in relief, I say, “We did, but didn’t you notice I kissed you back?”

  “Yes, but I don’t want you to feel pressured.”

  A tiny ripple of laughter escapes from me, which quickly morphs into an all-out guffaw. I can’t stop.

  “Oh, my God.” I slap my knee.

  “Care to share?” he asks.

  “I was worried,” I say between snorts, “I scared you off.”

  “What?” And he laughs too.

  “It’s so stupid.”

  We both plop on the couch and end up laughing at our silly miscommunication.

  “One thing you need to know about me, Weston, is I don’t ever do anything I don’t want to.”

  “Point taken.”

  Our chortling ends and we sit for a moment in silence. All of a sudden, he pulls me over and kisses me again.

  “I’m sorry, but I’ve been dying to do this for ages.”

  “Same here, but I thought we were friends.”

  “Can’t friends kiss?” he asks, disappointment lacing his tone.

  “Doesn’t that cross the friends’ barrier and move into the lovers’ category?”

  He takes my hand and laces his fingers with mine. “Why can’t friends be lovers?”

  At first I think he’s joking, but his expression bears no hint of any kind of teasing.

  “You’re serious?”

  “Completely.”

  “What if we end up as enemies, and then there goes our friendship?” I already can see it in my head. But if I’m honest, he’s the first man I’ve wanted in a very long time.

  “Special, how do you know that? What if the opposite happens?”

  “The opposite?”

  “What if we fall in love?”

  “Fall in love?”

  “Are you hard of hearing?” he asks.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Because you’re repeating everything I say.”

  “Probably because I’m wondering why a guy like you would consider falling in love with a girl like me.”

  He runs his hand over the side of his head. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks.

  “We’re so different. I just thought … I don’t know.”

  “But we’re not different. We’re so much alike. And you … you’re beautiful.”

  I gulp. Beautiful? Me? I’ve always thought I was weird looking and plain.

  “When I asked about being lovers, I didn’t mean … well, I meant …” He rubs the back of his neck. “Honestly, I want this to be right, you know? You probably don’t understand because I’m not making any sense. What I mean is I really like you and want, really want things to work between us.”

  “I’d like that too. But I’m more than a little scared about this.” Needing a change of topic, I ask, “Hey, what are you doing for Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow?” It’s hard to imagine him eating with that rotten family of his.

  Everything in the room changes, almost as though a dark cloud settles in. His posture sags and he deflates. “I have duties.”

  “No explanation necessary.”

  “But they’ll end around two.”

  I perk up and he notices.

  “Why?” he asks.

  “We eat around four. Want to join us? Jeb will be there too.”

  He grabs my arm and tugs me closer so I’m right next to him. “You just saved me from a miserable day. Count me in.”

  Chapter 24

  Special

  Last night after Weston brought me home, it was still fairly early so I decided to drive out to Mimi’s. But first I called to make sure she was still awake. There was no sense in scaring the woman half to death. She did her best to talk me out of it, but as I told her, I preferred waking up out there so I could help her with the food prep.

  That’s how I end up stuffing the turkey and peeling potatoes this morning. Mimi and I talk while Cody watches the parade on TV. Every now and then he yells at us to come and see some giant creature he thinks is super cool.

  Out of the blue, Mimi says, “Special, you need to marry that boy.”

  “What?”

  “Weston. He needs your love.”

  Jesus. Where the hell has her mind gone?

  “Have you been sneaking bourbon? Mimi, I can’t up and marry someone at the drop of a hat. There is something called love that has to come first, you know.”

  “Of course, I know. But you will fall in love with him.”

  I set the potato peeler down and wipe my hands on my apron. “How do you know? Have you peered into your crystal ball or something?”

  She picks up the peeler and finishes the task. “I have my ways. But no child should be treated by his parents like that. It makes me want to love on him with everything I’ve got.”

  Same here, only I don’t say it out loud.

  “He’s a grown man, Mimi. You can’t be loving on him. Besides, that’s not a reason for me to marry him.”

  “Not now, but maybe later.”

  Moving over to the refrigerator, I hunt down the sweet potatoes she baked last night. When I find them, I make the casserole and think about what she said.

  “Stop trying to play matchmaker. It’ll only cause problems.”

  “Honey B, it won’t. I can see the way you two look at each other. You sneak peeks at him when you think no one is watching, and he doesn’t even bother to hide it when he stares at you. He’s infatuated with you plain and simple.”

  “Okay, so what if you’re right? Infatuation and love are two different things.” I get up to grab the rest of the ingredients for the casserole.

&nbs
p; “When you’re adults, it can quickly lead to love,” she argues. She goes to the sink to add water to the pan for the potatoes and sets them on the stove. Then she faces me, as her index finger jabs the air. “You need to pay attention to the signals he’s giving off.”

  “Signals?”

  “Oh, boy. I failed when I raised you.”

  “No, you didn’t.” I was too busy being led on by rich boys who filled my head with lies because they didn’t want me. They only wanted sex. I learned the hard way after suffering through some heartbreaking times, and since then I’ve sworn off boys. “I’m too busy for boys, Mimi.”

  “This is a man, not a boy, and you should make time for him. He won’t break your heart.”

  It’s not what she says, but how she says it. “How do you know?”

  “He’s solid like your grandfather. I can tell by his mannerisms. He’s not one of those bullshitters, Honey Bear.”

  My brows shoot to the ceiling. I’ve never heard Mimi use an off-color word in my life. “You really like him, don’t you?”

  “It’s more than like. He’s trustworthy, the kind of man that won’t let you down.”

  “And you got all of this in one afternoon?” I ask skeptically.

  “I did. I’m an old woman, Honey B. It took a long time to fill this noggin with wisdom, but there’s a lot of it up here.” She taps a finger to her temple. “Just listen to me. Remember what I told you about Sasha? I knew that child would end up in real bad trouble. And look what happened.”

  “Oh, Mimi. But can I trust him with Cody?” Just thinking about Sasha causes me to tear up.

  She reaches over and grabs my wrist. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. It wasn’t her fault. It was those darn parents of hers. They should be ashamed of themselves. But I know right here,” she pounds her chest, “that your man is good as gold.” He’s not my man, but I don’t bother correcting her. “Yes, you can trust him.”

  Deciding to throw her a curveball, I ask, “Would you feel the same if he didn’t have any money?”

  “Why, you know I don’t care a thing about that. If I did, I would’ve sold this place off years ago.”

  She’s right. They offered her a few million and she turned it down, saying the land held too much sentimental value for her to sell.