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Before I can let that sink in, Henley is letting herself in through the laundry room, clicking across the hardwood floor to stand a few feet away from where I’m waiting for her. “Cari and Patrick aren’t here,” I tell her, even though I just convinced myself that she already knows. “Patrick took her to a game and then—”
“I know.” She offers me a smile while she peels off her Hermes scarf and Chanel coat. “I spoke with Patrick earlier.” Watching her, I realize she’s everything I used to wish I was. Beautiful. Poised and graceful. Floating around in a cloud of designer silk and expensive perfume. These days, I can’t even manage to shower on a regular basis. Even more incredible is the fact that I’ve seen her in dusty jeans and T-shirt before, her amazing main of luscious red hair pulled through the back of a baseball cap, hunched over the baseline, coaching runners and screaming at umpires.
Levis or couture, she’s perfect, either way.
Even the freckles that cover every visible inch of her skin are perfect.
It’s ridiculously unfair.
Her smile turns brittle around its edges. “We had a bit of a situation earlier. Patrick’s usually the one to handle them but… anyway,” she says, reaching out to hang her coat, which probably cost as much as my car, on a hook next to the door. “I’m not here to see Cari. I’m here to see you.”
“Me?” I say it like I have no idea what the word means, mostly because I don’t. I barely know Henley. I’ve tagged along during their group outings a few times. We went dress shopping for Tess. Had lunch a few times. That’s it. The whole of our association, up until now. I wasn’t even 100% sure she knew my name.
“You.” Giving me another smile, this one more sure of itself. She lets go of her coat and jogs her head to the side. “May I come in?”
“Sure,” I say, a beat too late because she’s already moving away from me, deeper into the apartment and I find myself scrambling after her like a rambunctious puppy, trying to remember my manners. “Can I get you something? A glass of wine or… tea?”
Tea?
Seriously, Grace? She’s not the freakin’ Queen of England.
For some reason, my offer of tea seems to amuse her. “Wine,” she says but instead of leaving me to serve her, she moves into the kitchen on a series of precise, efficient clicks that make her feel woefully inadequate for some stupid reason. “I think the situation calls for wine.”
Watching the silky sway of her designer dress as she moves around the kitchen, I feel my heart give a final thump before launching itself at my throat as I move toward the living room.
Situation.
We’re having a situation?
For some reason, I remember the time Lacey Hammond cornered me in the bathroom in high school and told me to stay away from her boyfriend.
Stay away from him, you little slut. He’s mine.
I wasn’t after her boyfriend. He was my lab partner in Chemistry but that did stop her from trashing me every chance she got to anyone who’d listen for an entire semester.
I’m suddenly sure that’s what this is. Henley knows Conner was here and she came here to stake her claim. To warn me to keep my distance. That’s what this is, a more grown-up, dignified version of Lacey Hammond’s he’s mine tirade.
Before I can tell her she has absolutely nothing to worry about, that I’ve barely known Conner for more than five minutes but even I can see how utterly gone he is for her, Henleygestures toward me with a corkscrew and gives me another smile. “Sit,” she tells me like she’s completely at home and I’m the drop-in guest. “Red or white?”
Neither. I prefer beer but I feel frumpy enough in my sloppy bun and Greatest Mom T-shirt without asking for a beer. “White,” I croak out.
Sinking to the couch where I started, I watch while Henley pulls a fancy looking bottle from the wine cooler and scissors the stems of a couple of wine glasses between her fingers. Moving like she’s done it a million times before, she comes toward me, skirting the kitchen counter to cross the space that flows into the living room and around the back of the couch I’d launched myself over less than ten minutes ago.
Setting the empty glasses on the coffee table, next to my pilfered bag of chips, Henley makes short work of the cork, using the corkscrew to pull it from the bottle’s neck with a soft pop.
“Patrick’s been teasing me with this label for weeks now,” she tells me, trading cork and screw for one of the glasses in front of me. “He bought an entire case and seems intent on hoarding it all to himself.”
“Is he going to be mad that we’re drinking it?” A bag of potato chips is one thing but this is something else. I don’t know shit about wine but if the label is any judge the bottle was expensive.
“I hope so,” she says with a laugh, pretty much confirming my worst fears. “It would serve him right.” Handing the glass to me, she rids herself of her heels with a haphazard kick. Silence falls between us while she fills her own glass and settles in to the corner of the couch, pulling her feet up to tuck them under her.
“Nothing happened.” It tumbles out in a rush before I can stop it. “We bumped into each other on the sidewalk outside and he saw that I was struggling to get Molly and my bags upstairs and he just—”
“Who is he?” She cuts me off, quick and clean, leaning forward with sudden and intense interest. “Ryan? Was he here?”
“What?” I feel my heart flip over in my throat when she says her brother’s name. “No, not— Conner.” Shaking my head, I lean to the side to set my glass on the table. “I thought you were here about Conner.” Feeling stupid, I pull the corner of my lower lip between my teeth, chewing on it for a second before letting it go. “I thought someone told you that he was here and that you came over to…” I let it go when all she does is stare at me.
“Conner was here,” she says, slow and careful, like she’s trying to put a puzzle together. “He saw you on the street, struggling to get your daughter inside and he stopped to help you? Is that what happened?” When I give her a nod she takes a sip from her glass and smiles. “Well, I sure as fuck hope so,” she says with an unlady-like snort. “If he’d left you to flounder on your own, he would’ve heard about it.”