Page 41 of Up in Smoke (The Bunkhouse #3)

MESA

“No, it’s totally fine! Come in, come in!”

Savannah steps through my door with wide eyes, clutching her bag with both hands in front of her.

“Sorry, it’s super messy in here,” I say with a laugh while bending over the table to swipe a ridiculously large pile of papers to the side. I puff air through the corner of my mouth to get the escaped hair out of my face and place both hands on my hips. “What’s up?”

“I once drank liquor out of Warren’s belly button at a bunkhouse party, and it tasted like sweat-flavored vodka, okay? A dirty house is nothing.”

My laugh in response to that must have been a little too high-pitched.

“Uh—are you manic or something?” she asks.

“What? No. I’ve been super busy.”

She looks down at my baggy sweatpants and shirt that I may or may not have also worn yesterday. Her eyes trail up and land on the pencil in my hair.

“Okay.” She draws out the word. “And you know the wedding is in three days? And I’ve been calling you for four?”

“Duh,” I blurt out, holding a hand up and shaking my head. I did, in fact, forget that the wedding is that close. Is it Wednesday already? I flick a piece of pizza crust off my shoulder.

“Oh boy.” She lowers her sunglasses and clears a spot on the kitchen counter for her purse. “It’s worse than I thought.”

“How bad?” Blythe asks as she walks in carrying a heap of grocery bags.

“You look so pretty! What is going on right now? I had no idea y’all were coming.” I laugh and take the loot from her to put in the kitchen, then gasp and spin around to face them again. “Oh, crap. Did we have something planned and I forgot about it?”

“No, just came to check on you,” Blythe answers.

I smile and lean against the fridge door. “That’s so nice. I’m sure you’re busy with so many better things to do for the wedding, though. I’m doing great!”

Savannah’s raised eyebrows and cheeky smile are entirely sarcastic. “Sure, babe! Totally believe you. Let me see your nails.”

I roll my eyes and place my hand on her outstretched palm.

“Manicure,” she whispers over her shoulder.

Blythe pulls out her phone and starts typing as quickly as she can. “How’s the app been going?” she asks without lifting her face from the screen, but I think it’s just to distract me.

“Good . . . I’m done with—what are you doing?” I lift my arms and throw a puzzled look at Savannah, who’s circling me and lifting the bottom of my sweatpants.

“Wax,” she whispers.

Blythe continues to type.

“Okay.” I slap my hands down at my sides and let out a breathy laugh. “I see what this is. Guys, I’m so glad to see you. But I’m fine. Really! This is so unnecessary.”

“No spray tan needed,” Savannah adds. “But glowy lotion would be perfect. Add that to the to-do list.”

Once again, Blythe types on her phone to add to what I assume is a running list of things they need to do to make me over in time for the wedding.

“Stop.” I slump my shoulders and tilt my head back. “I’ve been in my work cave doing final touches before we have to send everything off to beta testers on Friday. You caught me at a bad time.”

“Your little work cave smells like cheese dip, girl.”

I pin Savannah with a glare and shift my efforts to Blythe, who is usually easier to bargain with.

“You believe me, right?”

“Love ya.” Blythe smiles and then quickly winces. “But no.”

“Alright.” I sit down in a chair at the table.

After staring at it for a moment, I decide to move all the work-related junk to the couch and then retake my seat.

“So, I take it Tripp’s been filling everyone in on our fight, and you’re here because you think I’m depressed or slowly sinking into the floor or something? ”

“No, you had a fight? Have you spoken since?”

I wave a hand at Savannah. “Shut up. I know you know.”

She laughs and takes the seat next to me while Blythe sits perched in the one across the table. “Let’s all hold hands and light some candles. There are plenty of Etsy witches to take care of this mess before the wedding.”

“We’re not doing that.” Savannah rolls her eyes at Blythe’s suggestion.

Three knocks sound at my front door, and my brows furrow.

It’s then that I remember Hattie was set to come over this afternoon to drop off a book.

No matter how hard I tried to get her to reschedule, she wouldn’t.

Probably because I’d cried to her over the phone for an hour on Sunday.

She knows Tripp and I had a fight, and after laughing that we only lasted a day before everything went to shit, she insisted I shouldn’t be alone all week.

I stand from the table and lean forward to warn the girls, but two knocks on the door stop me in my tracks. Too late.

“So,” I say, quiet and uneasy. “Do you guys, like, hate Hattie Jo? Or?”

“Hattie Jo?” Blythe twists her face. Savannah’s eyes go wide.

“Yes,” I rush out in a whisper. “Hattie Jo. Do you hate her?”

“Yes,” Blythe says at the same time that Savannah says, “No.”

“Cool,” I reply with a smile. “This is fine.”

Savannah points toward the door when two more knocks rap against it. “Is that her?”

I close my eyes and nod.

“I don’t actually hate her,” Blythe says in a hushed voice. “That’s harsh. We’re not even well acquainted. But you can’t blame me for disliking her. It’s only natural considering the fact I’ve been around Heston for what? Over a year now? That girl fucked. Him. Up . Raw, no lube.”

“Nice visual. I know this is weird, but just be nice, okay? She’s my friend, and there’s no way Heston is totally innocent.” I stare at the girls until they both nod, then raise my voice. “Come in!”

“This feels like treason,” Savannah mutters. “Maybe she won’t realize who we are.”

Blythe leans close to her. “Yeah, right. She probably stalks the guys enough to be aware of who we are. I dare her to try something. Say the word and I’ll take my earrings out.”

“I can hear you hussies,” I spit under my breath, trying to find the delicate balance between staying loyal to the people I love at the ranch and still defending my friend, who I know is a good person.

Hattie opens the door a second later. In a neon blue bikini and enormous sun hat, no less. I keep telling her to change after lying out at the pool every morning, but she never listens.

She glances at me, then at the girls sitting at the table. Her toned thighs separate as she cocks a hip. For a second, I think she might turn around and run to her car.

She walks inside and closes the door instead.

Her steps are commanding and unnaturally slow as she glides leisurely to the kitchen and places a bottle of white in the fridge.

She could be bothered, but we’d never know.

As much as I like her as a friend, even I know how skilled she is at always keeping her outer appearance in check.

Savannah swallows and Blythe narrows her eyes as Hattie turns back around. She blinks once with her long, black eyelashes, and then slowly lifts her mouth into a sticky sweet, closed-lip smile.

“I see I’m late to the intervention. Wine?”

“Give me that!” Hattie reaches across me to snatch the phone out of my hand, but she’s too slow.

We skipped the riesling because Blythe said it would make her face puffy in pictures this weekend. Assembling the snack board was unbearably tense, but then Savannah fished a pack of matching pajamas from her trunk that were meant for the bridesmaids to wear on Saturday.

We protested at first, but she assured me she had an entire set of backups in another color. Then she told us to get along, sit down on a pillow, and eat some chocolate before she slapped us all across the head with the bottom of her sandal.

An hour later, we’re in a circle on the floor in the living room and trading gasps over the infamous drama between Hattie and the man she likes to call the bane of her existence—better known as Heston.

“This one is so cute, though.” I place a hand on my chest and look down at the picture of them smiling at each other. Heston’s face is unrecognizable. They’re sitting on the third step of the staircase in the bunkhouse that leads to the loft. “Are you sure it’s water under the bridge?”

Hattie rolls her eyes and finally takes back her phone. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“Why do you still have that picture?” Savannah asks with pursed lips and eyes barely peeking over her glass of sparkling water.

“It’s an old phone. I have to use it while I wait for a new one to ship to me.”

“ Right ,” Blythe murmurs. I lightly slap her on the arm, and she inhales deeply to fix her skeptical expression.

She and Hattie haven’t pulled each other’s hair yet, so I’d say this is going well.

“Anyway, now that that’s over.” Hattie scoots closer to the center of the circle, then hugs the nearest pillow into her lap and looks at me. “I think we all know why we’re really here. What’s the master plan?”

I didn’t expect these three to team up after witnessing their first interactions together. To my surprise, they seem to be on the same page now and each look to me with excitement.

“There’s no plan ,” I groan. “I appreciate it, girls. I really do. But seriously, I am in a good place. I’m way ahead of my work schedule, I’ve said my piece, and I’m sure we’ll talk soon when both of us are ready.

We’re grown adults, not high schoolers. I’m not eating Cherry Garcia ice cream at three in the morning with New Moon on the TV. ”

“That’s a little too specific for it not to be true,” Blythe points out.

“Well, it’s not. Maybe a long time ago I did that. But this time, I’m okay. Whatever is meant to be will work itself out. I only have control over myself right now. The rest is up to fate, and I’m not the kind of girl to draw up plays to win anyone back anymore.”

I laugh as each of them breaks into a cinema-worthy slow clap.

“I’m going to kill him,” Hattie says.

I purse my lips. “Please don’t do that. There’s no reason to be mad at him. A lot of what happened came so hard and fast that neither of us were prepared for it. But I was the one who basically said that he hadn’t put enough thought into what he believes and what he really wants. I—left.”

“You did the right thing,” Savannah says softly.

My head tilts down, and I tangle my fingers in my lap. I haven’t allowed myself to dwell on it much until now. I can admit that despite being proud of myself and my somewhat positive outlook on the situation, I’m still sad. Two hands gently rub my upper back on either side.

“Is he okay?” I ask.

“From the wreck? Yeah,” Blythe clarifies. “Gage said he’s been off and not very talkative this week, though. Whatever was said between you two, I think he’s miserable over it.”

Should that lift my spirits? It doesn’t. I don’t like the image of him being sad any more than I did the night things went south.

If his life had kept moving and he hadn’t missed a beat, though, I may have been even more heartbroken. I still would have picked myself up and gotten through this week with the same ambition to come out of this alive. But yeah, my heart would have been in pieces.

“Hear me out,” Blythe continues with a newfound energy. “ Yes, to all of what you just said and what’s meant to be will work out. But also yes . . . to looking like the sexiest damn thing to ever step foot in the state of Texas on Saturday.”

She smiles mischievously, narrows her eyes, and holds her hands together in front of her mouth.

“If I’m the sexiest thing at your wedding, wouldn’t that be upstaging the bride? Not that I will be. But I’m not going to entertain the risk. Nice try.”

“Oh, that’s not going to be a problem. I’ll be beautiful, but you will be smoking hot if we have anything to say about it.”

“You’re already stunning, by the way. You don’t actually need any extra help from us or bells and whistles,” sweet Savannah throws in with a hand on my knee.

“Thank you.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and contemplate the look on Tripp’s face when he sees me if I let them work their magic.

What has he been thinking in that head of his this week?

I feel like a different person after the number of times I’ve replayed our every interaction, including the heavy words exchanged the night of the accident.

The distanced perspective has been good for me, despite the fact that I simply miss him.

Maybe he’s been combing through our memories together and realizing that no fear should keep him from wanting to make more.

Maybe he’s been documenting every doubt in himself, letting my hard truths hold more weight, and then crossing them out one by one.

Maybe he’s already prepared what he wants to say to me.

Even if he isn’t doing any of those things, showing up to the wedding this weekend as an irresistible siren would do wonders for my mood.

I know how to be sexy, having already played that card plenty of times in my life.

But I’m also sitting in a room with three of the most stunning girls this side of the Mississippi.

It couldn’t hurt to recruit their expertise.

I bite my lower lip and lift my head to see them all eagerly leaning toward me.

“Let’s do it.”

A chorus of squeals and claps fills my tiny cottage, and I fall back to lie flat on the ground as if it exasperates me.

But there’s a smile on my face. Even when Blythe starts applying a thick cream that smells like cucumbers under my eyes, and Hattie starts showing me skimpy dress options on her phone, I smile.

I don’t even care if Tripp breaks his jaw when he sees me.

I’m good. I’ve got my girls.