Page 58 of Now to Forever (Life on the Ledge Duet #2)

Forty-One

“Are you sure this is right?” Wren looks skeptically from the bright-green backsplash tile of the kitchen to me.

I purse my lips and tilt my head, trying to find an angle that makes them look straight. All signs point to drunk kindergarteners doing the install. “No.”

“So what do we do? Pull it off and redo it?” She’s annoyed.

I shake my head and drag a sponge across the tile to wipe the last remnants of excess grout, wishing and failing for it to make the tile less crooked. I frown when it doesn’t. “We’ll just leave it. If you kind of close your eyes”—I take a step back and squint—“maybe no one will notice.”

She looks at the botched tile job, peeling her gloves off with a disbelieving snort. “They’ll notice.”

When she turns away, I flip her off.

“Now what? ”

With the backsplash done, there are no more projects. It dawns on me that maybe Wren might stop visiting. Of course, if I sell it in a few weeks, I guess I wouldn’t be here for her to visit anyway. Even I can't deny that I'll miss her.

“Well, I guess our work’s done,” I say as I mentally try to make up projects we could do. “We could do outside stuff? Landscape?”

“Now?” she asks, skeptical. “It’s almost winter.”

Right.

She sits on one of the stools at the counter, Molly propping her chin on her knee.

The oven dings. Wren looks at me.

“Test turkey’s ready.” I grin. “I tried a brine. And something called a spatchcock.”

Her face twists. “How many turkeys did you buy?”

“Five.”

“Five turkeys?!” she asks, incredulous. “Who’s going to eat all that?”

I grab potholders out of a drawer and open the oven, pulling the turkey out with a grunt.

“So far? Mostly Molly.” I set the turkey on the stove, peeking under the foil to see the golden-brown skin.

Looks done. “If I ruin this turkey, June will never let me live it down. I have two weeks to get this shit right.”

“Judging by the backsplash . . .”

“Ha. Ha.” I lean on the counter. “So what’s new?”

She shrugs. “Luke asked me to Homecoming.”

Do not react. Do not react. Do not react.

I shriek and clap; she groans. “I knew you’d do that. ”

“No you didn’t. What are you going to wear?”

Her eyes drop down, fingers pinch the sleeves of her sweater, and she shrugs. My heart wobbles.

I lift my chin. “Let me see.”

Reluctantly, she pulls her sleeves up. No new marks, only fading white lines going up her forearms. If I didn’t know, I wouldn’t notice, but she’ll never believe that. “Wanda has some makeup that might cover it up,” I offer.

Her hell no look tells me that won’t work.

“What about a long-sleeved dress? I’ll take you shopping if you want.”

She perks up slightly. “Yeah?”

“Of course,” I say. “It’s one of my five skills.”

“You have other skills?”

I look at her with a cocked eyebrow. “Ask your dad.”

She groans, and I grin, dropping the oven mitts on the counter.

“You still hanging out with the Letts girl?”

A familiar eyeroll. “She’s not bad, Scotty. She’s nice. I told her about my mom, and she like, listened. Like, asked me questions about her. Cared.”

“You what?!” I viscerally hate this news.

“What? You act like you don’t want me to have any other friends.”

I scoff. “Of course I want you to have other friends, Wren. Just not her.”

“Good thing it’s not up to you,” she mutters, a coldness filling her eyes as we glare at each other. If I didn’t like her so much, I’d hate her. Fucking kids . I jerk open a drawer and drop two knives on the counter. She blinks.

“Let’s carve pumpkins. I bought some for decorations and they need faces.”

She frowns.

“Halloween was weeks ago.”

“And?”

She stands, going to the door and waiting for me with a flat look I match. Inside I’m throwing a celebratory parade as I swipe the knives and go to the porch.

We do not talk as we stab the pumpkins. I haven’t done this in years—maybe ever—so when I look inside and see the amount of slimy seeds, I gag.

“The hell? Why do people do this?”

Her nostrils flare. “Your idea.”

“It was a bad one,” I say, stabbing my knife straight into the stupid gourd and letting it stay.

She fights a smile, following my lead and stabbing her own knife into her pumpkin.

Legs dangling off the porch, we look at the water.

The trees that were exploding with color just weeks ago now form a sea of sticks.

When the wind blows, it’s bone chilling.

The lake is empty, the sky is grey. One lone bird flies across the sky.

“Will you take a picture of us?”

I look at her. “Like a selfie?”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes. Like a selfie .”

“Okay.” I take my phone out and hand it to her, confused .

She tucks her hair behind her ears, leaning into me as she holds the phone out, pressing the button about six hundred times as we make an assortment of faces. She selects a few and emails them to herself then hands the phone back to me.

“What was that for?”

“They play a slideshow at the homecoming dance of all the students and asked us to submit pictures with friends and family.”

I nod—slowly—swallowing around the instant thickness in my throat. “You’re using a picture with me?”

She looks at me like I’m an idiot. “You’ve blackmailed yourself into being my best friend, Scotty. Of course, I am.”

I blink away, unshed tears burning my eyes.

“Well make sure you use one where I look hot.”

She snorts as Molly circles around our pumpkins with a disinterested sniff.

“You still want to come over and run in the afternoons?” I ask.

She’s quiet a beat, and I take that as my answer. My disappointment at this realization is foreign.

A female cardinal lands on one of the feeders—it pecks at seeds and flies away.

“I think women your age are at an increased risk for falling,” Wren finally says without looking at me, kicking her dangling legs over the edge of the porch. “Pretty sure it’s my duty as a citizen to not let you run alone.”

I don’t even bother hiding my smile. Little shit.