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“You handled it better than me. If I’d found them shooting off rockets on my lawn.” The way my fist tightens says everything.
She shrugs. “I was mad at first. Then I realized they were just kids and we all do stupid stuff when we’re young. Especially when we’re talking boys trying to impress girls.”
I snort, drumming my fingers on the table because she’s right.
Dex and I pulled some crazy shit back in the day. Patton had to work to keep up when he got older. It used to drive Mom insane.
But we’re not here to talk about my past or even Colt.
I just wanted to get her mind unpanicked, make her feel comfortable enough to talk about whatever it is that made her melt down.
“I guess you’ve got questions,” she says in a quiet, hurt voice that’s somehow worse than the tears.
“You know I do.”
“Right. Yeah. Because of the crying and bee freakout…” She levels a cool stare on me. “Bees are important, though. You shouldn’t kill them.”
“Noted,” I clip.
“But fine—fine—so maybe there’s something else going on with me.”
I don’t mean to look at the garbage bag again, but I can’t help it.
Winnie notices and her shoulders sag.
“It was supposed to be my honeymoon,” she whispers. I keep silent, just watching her as she lets the words sink in. The hurt lining her eyes and mouth make her look older, though she can’t be more than mid-twenties.
“Here?” I ask when she doesn’t add anything.
“Oh, no. Not here. Although this place would make an amazing honeymoon suite if you wanted to market it as one. We were actually going to Italy. Florence, then on to Venice and Rome.”
“Romantic choice.”
“Yes, well…” She sighs again. “Long story short, the whole thing collapsed at the last minute. I was having doubts and decided I couldn’t do it, so I left.” Her words hang in the air for a second like she wishes she could snatch them back. “And I don’t think my family will ever forgive me. I basically stranded him at the altar, or close enough.”
Fuck, that’s harsh.
I tap a finger against the coffee table as I think. The dress in that bag suggests she was wearing it when she arrived, which underscores how ‘last minute’ she means.
And she was the one who left him.
Maybe she’s still in love with her fiancé or there’s some other scandal there, but that’s not my problem.
Mine is the fire-breathing father who called, demanding his daughter’s whereabouts. I wonder how he thought to call us if this wasn’t a honeymoon destination.
Did he hit up every decent rental option in the state?
Winnie laces her fingers together and leans back in her seat, facing me with surprising directness, considering how she just cried all over my suit jacket.
“I’m hiding out, in case it wasn’t obvious,” she says, her voice clear.
“I gathered that,” I say dryly.
“Oh, right.”
“And your dad wants to know where you are.”
She winces. “Can we just leave him out of this for a bit? I want to talk about me. Or at least, the option of me staying longer.”