Page 30 of Distant Shores (Stapled Magnolias #2)

ADAIR

Delly and I exchanged a glance, but then the sound stopped. I held my breath, waiting for it to swing open, but… it didn’t.

Then the jiggling restarted, this time with more vigor.

“Go let her in,” Delly hissed, eyes wide.

As if my body had been waiting for permission, I shot up from the couch but instantly regretted it when my ankle screamed profanities at me. Or maybe that was me screaming them in my head at the dumb move.

“Crap, sorry, Addy. I forgot,” Delly whisper-yelled, but I ignored her as I lumbered to the front door.

I was halfway there when the front door swung open, and I panicked.

Going as fast as my booted foot and crutch could take me, I violently course-corrected to the refrigerator.

“Oh, hey!” I threw over my shoulder. “Welcome home!”

I opened the fridge and stuck my face in it .

Lordy.

I should’ve stayed in my room. I hadn’t even looked to confirm it was her, which meant I could’ve just welcomed a burglar into our home. And a bad one, at that.

Meh.

Delly could hold her own if it was, though. She’d once punched a kid in middle school for calling her stupid, and when I picked her up from the principal’s office, the kid was weeping on the bench while Delly just stood there with a smirk on her lips and ice on her knuckles.

The fridge cooled my flushed face, but as my thoughts ping-ponged in all directions, one of them became clear: I’d been in here for way too long. Jolting, I searched for an excuse for my loitering.

Delly’s laugh sounded from the living room, and a moment later, Ireland’s joined it. FOMO hit hard, and I grabbed something at random and went to investigate.

“—then she told me that if I was going to dress like a harlot, she may as well pay me like one and stuffed Easter eggs her grandkids had brought her into my scrubs pocket.”

Delly was sitting in the armchair now, having moved from the couch for some reason, as she told her story to Ireland, who stood beside her. They hadn’t noticed me yet, so I leaned against the doorframe and just listened.

“It was Ms. Betty, wasn’t it?” Ireland asked.

Delly chuckled. “So, you’ve met her?”

Ireland nodded, her messy, pretty hair brushing the tops of her shoulders. “She came to my first dance class here, back in January.”

“Oh, come on, there has to be more to it than that. Don’t hold out on me,” Delly complained, sitting forward in her seat as she sniffed out a juicy story.

Ireland fiddled with the loose threads on her cut-offs, then sighed. “Well, like most things here, it’s one of those ‘laugh so you don’t cry’ situations, you know?”

Delly nodded seriously but then glanced my way and straightened. “Big bro! Why are you lurking?”

Ireland looked over her shoulder, pinning me with her vibrant blue gaze.

I lost my words, but my brain lost its mind as it instructed my hand to rise in the air in answer.

The hand that was grasping a squirt bottle of mustard, that was.

We all looked at one another for a few seconds, and then I slowly lowered my hand. “Snacks?”

Delly snorted but kept her mouth shut, offering me no way out.

Silence persisted, so I just nodded to myself as if they’d given me the answer I was after and retreated into the kitchen.

I briefly considered committing to the mustard act and getting a snack to go with it, but since I actually hated mustard, I just put it back in the fridge.

Instead I grabbed the water pitcher from the fridge and refilled my Live Oak branded canteen they gave us yesterday at orientation—hydration was normal, right?—and returned to the living room.

Delly had disappeared, and as I scanned the room, the faint sound of her shower turning on filtered from her room. Ireland was sitting cross-legged on the couch, her attention on her phone and a deep furrow between her brows.

She glanced up as I took another step into the room, offering me a tight, awkward smile before looking back down at her phone.

Instead of cutting my losses and going to my room, I set my canteen on the side table between the couch and armchair and sat down. Out of habit, I leaned over to the couch and took one of the throw pillows and hugged it against me.

“I missed the end of the story?”

She clicked a button, darkening the screen. “There wasn’t much more to it.” Her eyes locked on mine, and she sighed. “Just something that was sad more than anything. But maybe less sad now, after time passed, so now it’s just…”

“Just what?” I asked, leaning toward her.

Ireland hummed. “A memory.”

Her thoughtful expression that followed, as if she was reliving it, turned almost… bereft. Burning pain filled my chest, and the knowledge that I didn’t know her well enough to fix it, or even to ease it, made it so much worse.

Slowly, I stood up and joined her on the couch, sitting on the far end so I didn’t crowd her.

Whatever deep hurt she was remembering probably couldn’t be fixed, but I could at least sit with her through it.

She masked her flash of surprise quickly, her lips turning up in a sad smile.

It felt less like a win than her other smiles, but still worthwhile.

“Cody and Liem seemed nice. Arizona too,” I said. “Like good people to have in your corner.”

She uncrossed her legs and shifted so her feet were under her to one side, her knees pointed at me.

And yeah, I looked at them. Briefly.

When I looked back up at her, her indigo eyes were waging a debate.

“What is it?” I asked.

She rolled her lips together before answering. “Today was the first time I’d met Cody in person.”

My eyebrows shot up. I’d been watching all the exchanges at lunch keenly, and they’d seemed comfortable with each other. Like friends.

“And really, I don’t know Liem all that well either. Not for lack of him trying,” she admitted. “But they’re good people. As for Ari….” She swallowed thickly. “She’s incredible.”

“Your dad sure seemed to agree,” I said with a teasing smile.

Her lips twitched. “Yeah. Speaking of Dad’s attentions….” She leaned back and fished something out of her front pocket. “Here.”

I took the wadded-up napkin from her, my fingertips skimming the soft skin of her wrist unintentionally.

Our eyes met, but she looked away and put her hand back in her lap. “Dad told me to give that to you.”

Best as I could, I uncrumpled the napkin against my thigh. “I’ll be damned,” I said with a smile. “That’s me. The upper half, anyway.” I studied the drawing of me as a seahorse with a chuckle. “Should we frame it?”

Ireland nodded slowly. “I think we should, actually. Hold on.”

She unfolded herself gracefully from the couch, and I dutifully ignored the way my heart had fluttered at her use of “we.”

I had to get a grip.

Less than a minute later, she returned from her room with a wooden frame held against her chest.

“It’s, um, too big for just that, but Dad doodles a lot, so…”

“We’ll fill it in no time,” I said with a smile, completing her thought, trying out the “we” for myself. “Wanna do the honors?” I asked, holding out the napkin to her.

She took it and returned to her spot on the couch but sat a little closer to me this time before setting the frame down carefully on the coffee table.

“It’s beautiful,” I said, hovering my hand over the frame. “May I?”

She nodded, and with the lightest touch, I ran my fingertips over the wood. It was exceedingly smooth, with some faint embellishments obviously made with a precision tool. The corners were perfect, no glue or nails to be seen. The wood was natural, unstained.

“Did your dad make this?” I asked.

“No,” she answered quietly, her gaze still on the frame. “It was made at the Locc. Liem and his uncle did a class where they made these.”

“Sounds nice,” I said.

“It was,” she agreed, but sadness still clung to her as she glanced between me and the frame.

“Gil, Ari’s husband, made this.” Her voice turned soft. Small. “He passed away a few weeks ago. Very unexpectedly.”

My heart squeezed as I processed the information bit by bit. That sweet woman at lunch was a new widow. Liem and his family…. They were all grieving. And so was Ireland.

That was what changed between that morning when we fell on the street and now. Grief.

“ I’m so sorry,” I said gently. “For you. And for them.”

She opened her mouth but then closed it, rethinking whatever she was going to say. “Thank you. It’s been….” She drew her knees more tightly to her chest. “It’s been complete shit, if I’m honest.”

She laid her cheek on top of her knees, facing me, and I tilted my head to the side, drinking in her gaze.

“Thank you,” she whispered, as if afraid of being overhead. “I think I needed to say that. ”

“Anytime,” I whispered back.

A piece of her hair fell into her face, and our fingers brushed as we both moved to tuck it behind her ear.

I froze.

She froze.

I had not given my hand permission to do that.

But the choice to not pull away was all mine.

So, together, we moved, brushing the soft strand back.

“I need to wash my hair,” she said quietly. “It probably feels gross.”

“No,” I said honestly. “It doesn’t.”

I traced a featherlight path across her cheekbone with my thumb. Her lips parted, drawing my gaze to them, but then something akin to fear flashed across her indigo gaze. I dropped my hand and pulled away, my face heating, and not a moment too soon.

Delly’s bedroom door opened, and she walked into the living room wearing a pajama set with her university logo on them.

“Do you guys wanna play a game or something?” she asked, seeming oblivious to the thick atmosphere.

To whatever this was or wasn’t. Or could’ve been.

I leaned back over to the side table and grabbed the deck of cards I’d stashed there, then tossed them to her. She caught them with a smile, but then Ireland excused herself for bed.

We mumbled “Goodnights” to her, and I did my best to focus on Delly setting up a game instead of watching Ireland go.

After several rounds of Crazy Eights, Rummy, and one round of Go Fish , Delly yawned and went off to bed.

I got up to check the locks, relatively sure Ireland was in for the night.

I turned out most of the lights, leaving just one lamp on in the living room in case anyone had to get up during the night.

Then I stood at my bedroom door, hand on the knob, gaze flicking to her closed door.

I had almost crossed a line tonight.

That was not great.

Shaking myself, I opened my bedroom door and stepped inside.

Maybe friendship with Ireland Sewell would be easier if we communicated exclusively via notes.

Notes didn’t smell like lavender.

Notes didn’t have sad, indigo blue eyes.

Notes wouldn’t make me want to kiss her.

Probably.

I’d showered and brushed my teeth earlier, so I just stripped down to my boxers, crawled into bed, and set my glasses on the nightstand.

The darkened room blurred in front of me, and I sighed in relief.

Notes and no glasses.

Maybe that’s how I would survive her from now on.