Page 43 of Someone to Have (Skylark #3)

TAYLOR

I take off work the day of the play’s opening.

Not because of nerves or feeling sick, but because Sloane got back into town last night, arriving in Colorado on her brother’s private jet.

The relief of having a legit excuse to avoid thinking about tonight’s performance and what to do about falling for the wrong guy makes my shoulders finally relax for the first time in days.

To welcome our friend home, our book club is having breakfast together at Sadie’s farmhouse. The crisp morning air is sweet with the scent of hay and horses, snow glittering like diamonds in the light reflecting off distant peaks.

It’s only been a few months since Sadie and Ian moved from the house where she and her sister grew up to a seventy-five-acre spread north of town. I pause on the wraparound porch and imagine what it would feel like to have someone care enough about your dreams to build their whole life around them.

They bought the property so that Sadie would have more room for her dog training business. And because they needed a barn to get Ian’s daughter, Riva, the horse every girl dreams of owning.

Maybe not every girl, but I was definitely horse crazy.

Not that it mattered. The only chance I had of getting a horse was finding one that could also ice skate—some equine unicorn—because it was expected that every member of the Maxwell clan liked winter sports, even our pets.

I push down the familiar feeling of failure at never fitting the Maxwell mold.

I love that Sadie found her happiness through the bucket list challenge. Iris did, too, for that matter. And while my friends don’t all realize it, I secretly hoped I might do the same. Unfortunately, Bryan officially gives me major ick. And Avah’s right—there’s no coming back from the ick.

My secret heart-of-hearts wish was that Eric would develop more-than-friends-with-benefits feelings for me. God, how pathetic can one person be? Wishing for someone who’s made it clear that casual is all he can give.

Feeding off his sister’s excitement about the house, Eric quickly made arrangements to move up the closing date so he could spend the remainder of his time in Skylark working on renovations. My chest tightens at the reminder that his time here has an expiration date.

Or maybe he just wants more excuses to avoid me. I still see Rhett for tutoring, but other than short glimpses in the hallway or watching out my window like some sort of creeper as he pulls out in his truck, I haven’t seen Eric since we got back from Denver last Sunday afternoon.

Which is probably for the best. Only my heart is having trouble getting the message that I’m supposed to be moving on.

It’s not like he’s being a jerk. He thanked me profusely for my advice on the house and everything I’ve done to help Rhett.

His gratitude made it feel like he was tying up loose ends, nothing more, and it’s on me that I took the words as a brush-off.

After all, he doesn’t need me anymore, so we’re done because he says so.

I should be fine with it. He kept his end of the bargain. Those confidence lessons have paid off in spades, at least in rehearsal. I can deliver my lines with conviction instead of whispered uncertainty. How ironic that I found my voice but lost the person who helped me claim it.

On the other hand, Bryan keeps turning up like a bad penny, mainly under the guise of giving me more constructive criticism . Enough already. Every time he approaches me with a clipboard full of notes, my jaw clenches so hard I’m surprised I haven’t cracked a tooth.

Even Eric being out of my life doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want Bryan in it.

And it feels good to take back my power, not just in public speaking but with life in general.

I learned I don’t have to apologize for taking up space or having opinions.

Eric taught me that, even if he doesn’t know it.

I knock on the farmhouse’s front door, and a cacophony of barking greets me. Sadie appears a moment later with an animal closely resembling a ball of fuzz in her hand.

“I just got everyone in their crates,” she says. “Ignore the chorus. This is Pringle.”

“Hey, Pringle.” I reach out to scratch behind the dog’s ears. His pink tongue darts out to lick my finger. “That is one fluffy dog.”

She rolls her eyes. “He’s twelve pounds of trouble and had an early morning bath because he started the day rolling in deer poo.”

I grimace even though there’s something endearing about the canine mischief. I imagine myself with a dog someday. And a husband. And kids. Maybe a white picket fence. But the way my heart hurts at how things ended with Eric, I can’t help but wonder if love is worth all the trouble.

I follow Sadie into the house, past the mudroom, where a neat row of dog crates lines the wall, each labeled with a different name in Sadie’s neat handwriting.

The renovated farmhouse opens into a stunning great room with soaring ceilings supported by massive beams, while wide-plank floors gleam under thick rugs.

The furniture looks like it was crafted to last generations and fit an NFL legend with oversized leather sofas and a stone fireplace big enough to stand in.

“It’s weird to walk into your house and not have half the furniture in the main room be dog crates.”

“Don’t get her started down memory lane,” Ian tells me as he walks down the wide staircase leading to the second floor. “You don’t know how much effort it took to convince her we only need crates in the mudroom.”

“I promise I’m joking.” I give Ian a quick hug. He’s tall, handsome, and built like a superhero, but I have zero reaction to his version of a stud athlete. My body only goes haywire for one particular hockey hottie. “I figured out here you’d have a whole room dedicated to the dogs.”

“We have two rooms,” Ian clarifies.

“I also use the indoor arena in the barn for training,” Sadie adds with a grin. “I’ll give everyone a tour after breakfast.”

Ian drapes an arm around her shoulder and pulls her close, placing a tender kiss on the top of her head.

“We keep some crates in the main living area for socialization,” Sadie explains.

“Because she’s addicted to dog fur,” he tells me with a wink.

“To be clear,” Sadie says as she rolls her eyes, “this is coming from the man who built a set of stairs so his favorite dog can access our bed whenever he needs to nap.”

“You’re going to ruin my reputation,” he tells her, then leans in for another kiss. “You keep insisting on revealing to everyone who comes through the door that I’m a sucker for the chicken dog.”

“It adds to the mystique,” I assure him.

I’ve met Ian’s favorite, Beast, and describing the canine as a chicken dog is not an exaggeration. Sadie hands over Pringle, and Ian holds him close like a football.

“Enjoy your brunch. I’ve got a call with Brady in five, and then I’ll check in to make sure things aren’t getting too wild.”

“You aren’t fooling anybody, sweet hubby of mine,” Sadie says. “ You’ll be checking in to snag one of Avah’s homemade cinnamon rolls.”

He tries to look innocent and fails miserably.

“You love my dad bod,” he says, patting his flat stomach.

With the dog tucked under his arm, he turns and disappears up the staircase, taking them two at a time.

I lean in for a hug with Sadie and whisper, “He mentioned Brady. Does he mean Tom?—”

“Yeah, they’re working on some charity event together.”

“Wow.”

Her eyes widen along with her smile. “Hey, I’m pretty sure Brady’s single. Do you want Ian to introduce you?”

Before I can register how much that boggles my mind, Sadie holds up a hand. “No, wait. When she dropped her dogs off for daycare yesterday, Mel Wilson told me she saw you on a date last weekend. Are you holding out on us? Did you already meet your extra-credit bucket list challenge?”

“It’s a long story, and I need a cinnamon roll to tell it.”

She hugs me a little tighter and then leads the way to the back of the house.

The kitchen smells like sweet pastries and coffee. My heart warms at seeing my friends gathered around Sadie’s massive farmhouse table, mismatched mugs in hand.

As Sloane stands, I rush forward and envelop her in a tight hug. She’s so thin, and her skin is still eerily pale, but her eyes are bright and determined.

“You will not cry,” she commands as we continue to hold each other.

“None of us are allowed to cry,” Avah reports from behind the counter where she’s placing her famous cinnamon rolls onto small earthenware plates. “Not that I was planning on it.”

“You’re as soft as the inside of your cinnamon rolls,” Sloane tells Avah when I finally release her. “You aren’t fooling anyone.” Her soft lavender beanie brings out the color in her eyes. Seeing her here makes my throat tight with gratitude, even if I’m not allowed to cry.

We distribute the plates around the table, and then Sloane sits back in her chair, looking ready to dish. “So you finally went on a date with the Hugh Grant wannabe.”

“More like Hugh’s insufferable cousin,” I mutter, wrapping my hands around the mug of coffee Sadie hands me. “If Hugh has one of those.”

Avah snorts. “I could have told you that months ago. Plus, he gives off serial killer vibes.”

I nearly choke on my coffee. “He’s not a serial killer.”

“As far as you know,” Molly adds softly, then claps a hand over her mouth when I shoot her a disbelieving look.

“Do you all hate him?”

“Hate’s a strong word,” Iris says as she digs into her cinnamon roll. “But he’s an asshat, and it’s about time you realized it.”

“The real question is…” Sloane leans forward with the intensity of someone who’s spent a lot of time in hospital beds pondering life. “What are you going to do about the hot hockey player who’s kind of perfect for you?”

My stomach does a little flip. “Eric’s not perfect for me. We’re total opposites. He’s leaving town anyway, and I already told you we’re just?—”

“Just what?” Avah interrupts. She raises one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Enjoying mind-blowing sex? Making each other laugh? Having the kind of connection you read about in all those spicy romances?”

Molly rubs her palms together and does a funny little dance in her chair. “We also heard that Eric looked like he wanted to challenge the serial killer to a duel. That Regency-coded shit is smokin’, Tay.”

Heat creeps up my neck. “You guys weren’t even there.”

“Mel gave me a play-by-play,” Sadie says cheerfully. “Complete with dramatic reenactments. ”

Sloane reaches across the table and grabs my hand.

Her skin feels like a slip of paper, but her grip is surprisingly strong.

“Listen to me. I’ve spent the last two months in a hospital room, wondering if I’d ever again get another chance to hug the people I love.

Life’s too short for playing it safe with your heart. ”

The kitchen goes quiet except for the soft tick of the clock in the hallway.

“But what if he doesn’t?—”

“What if he does?” Molly interrupts as she tucks a strand of red hair behind her ear. “What if you’re so busy protecting yourself from disappointment that you miss out on something amazing?”

“You found your voice on stage with Eric’s help,” Avah reminds me. She leans back in her chair, clearly gearing up for a mic drop moment. “Now use it for something that actually matters.”

Mic. Dropped.

I stare at my coffee like I’m reading tea leaves that hold all the answers. The idea of telling Eric how I feel makes my heart race in a completely different way than stage fright ever did. The flutter of anticipation that swirls low in my belly is terrifying, but also exhilarating.

“I should focus on opening night,” I say finally. My voice sounds small even to my own ears.

“Perfect timing,” Sloane says with a grin. Her eyes sparkle with mischief despite everything she’s been through. “Nothing like a little drama to set the mood.”

I look around the table at these women who’ve become my chosen family, and something shifts in my chest. The bucket list challenge has taught me that I can do hard things. There’s a potential that I could fall. But there’s also a chance I might fly.