Page 29 of Take Me (Cherry Blossom Lake #5)

“Yes, please.” Erika drops her keys in the same bowl that always holds mine, which seems like a solid display of simulated devotion. Nothing says ‘in love and living together’ like sharing a spot for your keys.

“Hi, honey, I’m home.” She sounds weary, but happy to see me.

I hug her hello, since that’s what in-love couples do, and I hold on a little longer than I probably should. Her clothes smell like auto shop, but the familiar fern scent still clings to her skin. “Are you just getting off work?”

“Yeah.” She watches Hazel bustling around with her bags. “We just happened to pull up at the same time.”

“I can come back if now doesn’t work.” Hazel glances between us. “We said six, right?”

“No, this is good.” Erika stretches a kink from her back, and I watch her breasts strain at her Spencer-King Auto shirt. “I need to figure out what to wear to Jake and Cassidy’s wedding, so this is as good a time as any. Plus, you came all the way here.”

All the way here is less than a mile, but I’m happy to host my cousin and fake live-in girlfriend. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“I’m fine.” Hazel frowns. “Are you really planning to hang out and watch us go through clothes?”

“Why not?” I glance at Erika, who gives me a tired-looking smile. “As long as it’s all right with you.”

She chuckles and peels off her jacket, draping it on one of the hooks by the door. “I need all the help I can get.”

“All right, Mason stays.” Hazel points at me with a mock-stern look. “But no making a mockery of women’s fashion.”

“When have I ever?—?”

“Shhh.” Erika claps a hand over my mouth. “Six-foot-four men who dress in pink skirts with red boxers are already on thin ice when it comes to fashion advice. Don’t make me doubt your wisdom.”

Nipping her palm, I grin as she yelps and yanks back her hand. “I’m six-five, thank you very much. And I’ll have you know I make a beautiful Dolly.”

Hazel primly unpacks the contents of a bag. “While I’m certain that’s true, we reserve the right to veto any clothing you choose simply because it accentuates your girlfriend’s breasts.”

The word rolls a pleasant shiver down my spine. Girlfriend . I like how that sounds.

Erika and I trade a quick smile as Hazel continues piling clothing on every flat surface. There’s a huge mound of shirts on my coffee table, and another big heap of skirts on my sofa.

“There’s lots of stuff to choose from,” Hazel says. “I brought plenty of variety this time.”

“Oooh, that one’s cool.” Erika drops to the floor at our feet, grabbing a pale turquoise dress off the stack on the coffee table. “I love the color.”

“It’s nice.” I can tell by the neckline it would showcase her cleavage like a dream. So would a dress made of trash bags. “Isn’t the color too close to what the bridesmaids are wearing?”

“Oh.” Erika blinks and puts down the dress. “I wouldn’t have even thought of that.”

Hazel sits on the sofa and crosses her legs. She shoots me a look that’s almost impressed. “You may have just redeemed yourself, beer boy.”

“Thank you.” I poke at a pile of skirts, nearly toppling it. “I accept donuts as compensation for my style expertise.” I catch Erika’s eye and wink. “Or blowjobs.”

As Erika blushes, Hazel rolls her eyes. “Way to ruin it. I thought for a second you might be a style-conscious, etiquette-savvy, metrosexual man.”

“Oh, I am.” I watch Erika paw through some jumpsuits and catch myself wondering how easy they’d be to peel off her body. “I can also bench press three-eighty.”

My cousin does not look impressed. “I heard through the grapevine you did the calligraphy for Jake and Cassidy’s reception place cards.”

“Must be a slow week for the grapevine if people are gossiping about my calligraphy skills.” It’s true, though, and I did a damn fine job with them. “What else is the grapevine buzzing about?”

Glancing at Erika, Hazel hesitates. “I don’t like to gossip?—”

“Please.” Erika scoffs and keeps digging through bags. “Deep down, we all like to gossip.”

“It’s kinda the official pastime of small towns,” I agree. “That and cow tipping.”

Erika grabs something shimmery and yellow off one pile. “Have you ever known anyone who’s gone cow tipping?”

“I don’t even know what cow tipping is,” I admit. “What’s the small-town, coastal equivalent?”

“Slinging big ropes of sea kelp like a lasso?” Erika sets aside the yellow thing and grabs a froth of sea-green silk.

“That’s the other bridesmaid color.” A bummer, since she’d look great in that shade. “Maybe sand sledding is the coastal equivalent of cow tipping?”

Forehead scrunching, Erika puts down the green thing. “You make a better girl than I do, Mace. Even if I knew the wedding colors, I would never have known it’s a faux pas to wear one as a guest.”

“It’s a gift,” I agree, my masculinity fully intact. Since it feels weird to stand with both women sitting, I drop to the floor beside Erika. “What about snacking on saltwater taffy?”

Hazel frowns. “What are you babbling about?”

“Still brainstorming the Oregon Coast equivalent of cow tipping.”

Erika snorts and paws through the next bag. “How about searching for glass floats on the beach?”

“That seems very specific.” Hazel refolds the green thing, then plucks something peachy orange from the bag.

“Try this. It’s by one of my favorite designers, MaxMara.

It’s made with cady fabric in persimmon with a draped, asymmetric bodice and wide-leg trousers that have double pleats on the side inset pockets. ”

Erika looks confused. “Am I supposed to know what that means?”

“It’s a jumpsuit. Like a romper, but with pants.” I smile when Hazel looks shocked. “What? A hot, hetero male can’t know that?”

Erika holds up the silky fabric, draping it over her body. “I guess I could try it on.”

“Here, I’ve got matching shoes.” Hazel hands her a pair of Louboutins. “They go great with the outfit.”

“Ugh, heels.” She takes the shoes anyway, then gets up and starts for the bedroom.

“Wait.” I try grabbing her ankle, but I miss. “We’d really appreciate if you changed right here where we can watch.”

“Speak for yourself,” Hazel says as she digs through another big bag. “I’m perfectly fine giving the poor woman privacy.”

“I’ll be right back.” Erika heads down the hall to my bedroom— our bedroom—and closes the door behind her.

Hazel keeps unfolding and refolding clothes, so I grab one of the bags and do some digging of my own. “Speaking of gossip?—”

“Were we?” she asks.

“It’s a game I just learned from Lucy. Also, yes—you just told us you don’t like to gossip. I assumed that was a lead-in to actually, yanno—gossiping.”

Hazel’s lips form a thin line. “I’m not sure I feel right about that.”

“Would it be better if I gossiped first?” I don’t wait for her to argue. “Melissa Cantor got a speeding ticket last Tuesday, Weirdoughs discontinued the blueberry scones again, and Hayley Nixon isn’t dating Luke Lovelin anymore. There, now I’ve broken the gossip seal. Your turn.”

She gets the funniest look on her face. “What makes you think I have any interest in Luke Lovelin?”

Huh?

“Didn’t say you did.” That was weird. “It was just the first gossip that popped into my head. Now you go. What’s your gossip?”

“Well.” She darts a glance toward the closed bedroom door where Erika just disappeared. “It’s about Neil. He was spotted shopping for engagement rings at Costco in Salem a few days ago.”

“No kidding.” I wait for the envy to hit me. The anger that Neil—fucking Neil—feels secure proposing to Annabelle after just a few weeks, when I couldn’t convince her to be exclusive in more than a year.

But the only real feeling I have is annoyance. “Who the hell shops for engagement rings at Costco?”

That’s the moment Erika strides from the bedroom dressed in the peachy-orange jumpsuit. She looks itchy and annoyed, and I’m not sure if it’s the clothing or my Costco quip.

“Brooke says Costco has really nice jewelry,” she says. “Not that I’d know a tennis bracelet from a tennis racquet, but she says the quality’s great for a fraction of the price, plus they do certificates of authenticity and free returns.”

“I stand corrected.” I also stand up to get a better view of the outfit. “You look nice.”

She tugs at the draped, asymmetrical neckline. “I look like an inmate. Either that, or a giant creamsicle.”

“I love inmates and creamsicles.” I also love the view of her breasts from this angle. “I won silver at the Oregon Beer Awards for my Dreamsicle Pale Ale last year.” It hits me that talking about inmates might be weird for my cousin. “Does Uncle Owen wear an orange jumpsuit?”

That was probably not the gesture of conversational inclusion I thought it was. But if Hazel’s offended I brought up her father in prison, she doesn’t show it. “No,” she says primly. “Inmates at FCI Sheridan wear khaki.”

“There you go.” I turn back to Erika. “I think you’re good.”

Hazel sits frowning, surveying Erika as she does a slow twirl. “I think you’re right,” she concedes. “That’s not the most flattering color on you. Don’t worry—I’ve got plenty of great stuff to pick from.”

Looking more bummed than I would have expected, Erika starts to undo the belt at the waist of the jumpsuit. “Why were you talking about Costco engagement rings?”

“Neil was seen shopping for one.” I just earned a death glare from Hazel. “What?”

“You could be a little more tactful, you know.” She swivels her gaze back to Erika. “I heard from Beth Graham, who was making a Costco run earlier in the week. I don’t know if it’s true, and even if it is, that doesn’t mean he and Annabelle are?—”

“I’m sure they are.” She flops on the sofa and pulls off the spiky high heels. “Neil said they’re in love, and he gave up his Navy career to be with her. Engagement’s the next logical step.”

“I suppose.” Hazel hands her a full bag of clothing. “Here. I removed everything in Jake and Cassidy’s colors, so there’s nothing in blue or green color palettes here.”