Page 22 of Someone to Have (Skylark #3)

I roll my eyes but smile. “Mountain rain. We're in Colorado, after all.” The bottle reminds me of the color of the sky over the mountains this morning, the bright sun and blue sky making the cold air feel more tolerable.

“Got it,” she agrees and hefts a massive container into the cart. She leans closer and whispers, “Do we head to the personal pleasure aisle next?”

“You can't buy a vibrator in Target,” I protest, my voice a high-pitched squeak.

“Girl, you can.” She waggles her eyebrows. “Plus, you get five percent off with your card.”

“Wow…” I stifle a laugh. “Who knew?”

“Um, every single mom within a hundred miles,” she tells me with a wry smile.

“Gives new meaning to self-care Sunday.” The thought sends an unexpected flutter through my belly, reminding me of last night.

“Don't knock it. Why not take matters into your own hands? Or hand, as the case may be? ”

“It's not the same.” My mind drifts back to Eric's touch, and a shiver runs through me.

“Sometimes it’s even better.”

I give her a pointed look. “I'd literally rather be in one of Don's interminably long staff meetings than having this conversation with you.”

“Cut me some slack. Nobody in the school pickup line wants to talk about this stuff.” She navigates her cart around a Valentine's Day display on the end cap.

“Neither do I.”

“You brought it up,” she says, then consults the list on her phone. “I need fruit chews.” She pushes her cart in the opposite direction and I follow. “How long has it been since you’ve had a partner in the fun?”

I consider that. “Too long. I’m sure Bryan will be worth the wait.” But even as I say the words, Eric's intense gaze and knowing smirk float to mind.

“There's no accounting for taste,” she says with an eye roll.

Heat creeps up the back of my neck. “Why don't any of you like him?” The question comes out sharper than I intended.

“Why hasn't he noticed you on his own?” she counters. Her words land like a punch to the gut.

“It's probably my fault he friend-zoned me. I haven't been giving off the right vibes.” I reach for a bag of chocolate chips and toss them into her cart.

“Or maybe he's a big dumb-dumb.”

“He's not a dumb-dumb. And I'm not ready to give up on him.” The words don't come out with as much conviction as I planned. But that has nothing to do with Bryan.

It's the fact that Eric has me all turned around. My body’s GPS is whacked out thanks to his mouth and fingers. It’s just physical, I tell myself, and has nothing to do with his quiet confidence in me.

“You need to figure out how to replicate what Mr. Hockey Stud did for you. Then you can use your newfound self-assurance to force Bryan to look at you in that way.” She waves a package of cookies at me for emphasis.

“That sounds so forceful .”

“Which is the whole point, Taylor.” Her voice softens, genuine concern replacing her teasing tone. “With both the play and your crush. Don’t quit now.”

“I won’t. I can't do that to Sloane or myself.” The heavy weight of my bucket list promise settles again on my shoulders.

“She seems a little better, right?” Molly asks as she adds a barrel of pretzels to the cart. “Her spirits are up at least.”

I nod. “I didn't think it was going to be this complicated. It really makes it hit home what she's facing. The fact that I can't even manage to utter one line in the play is embarrassing in comparison.”

“It's not embarrassing. It's your challenge. We all have them.” Her gentle words ease some of the tightness in my chest.

“You doing okay?” I ask, studying her profile as we head to the checkout. Molly likes to joke around about her life as a single mom, but we all know she's completely devoted to the twins. And also that it hasn't exactly been easy since the accident that killed her husband.

“I own every self-pleasure device this place sells. I'm taking care of business.” She keeps her tone light, but I catch the flicker of pain in her eyes.

“That's not what I mean, although...it's admirable.” I bump my shoulder against hers in a gesture of solidarity.

“Winter is my fallow season,” she says, and I feel like she's talking about more than just her flower business. “But it's not terrible. I have more time for the kids, and I'm volunteering to help decorate for the Valentine's barn dance next month.”

“You do too much.”

“To keep my name out there.”

“I don't know how you manage it all.”

She shrugs. “Not much of a choice. Not having options is a big motivator. Thanks for coming with me to run my errand. Made it fun. I know you're going to figure things out.”

We join the checkout line, and the normalcy of this little outing grounds me in a way I didn’t realize I needed until now.

“Only if you promise we can bust open that box of fruit chews in the car on the way back to the library.”

“Done,” she agrees with a wink.

This conversation may not help me solve the issue of how to channel my post-Eric Anderson-induced confidence to overcome my anxiety. But it reminds me why it's so important that I do. Sloane is going to be back for opening night, and I'm not going to let her—or myself—down.