Page 76 of Just My Ex

“All good points. And I offered that friendship idea because I’d rather be friends with you than enemies.”

“Me, too. But really, I have to keep my head about me. Taking things slow is for the best.”

She squeezes my hand, and then goes in the bathroom and gets ready for bed, the sounds of her brushing her teeth and washing her face like the cadence of a song I know by heart. As soon as I hear her open and close the door to the other bedroom, I unwrap the carving from a compartment in my suitcase, slide out my wood carving kit and sealing wax, and begin working again.

It's the only thing to do right now.

Chapter 31

Quinn

The tightness in my neck is only eclipsed by the dull ache in my lower back as I hunch over the spread of Tate family photos spread all over the floor. We’re trying to stack them by date so they can be scanned and digitized. And I’m having a hard time staying focused because my heart is still palpitating over Henry’s words last night. And the kissing.

We haven’t discussed his revelation. I feel like there are still some unresolved things between us, so much more to hash out. My emotional wounds are screaming at me to wait before I’m too far in. To be patient. I owe it to myself and Navie to proceed with caution.

That doesn’t mean I don’t want to slide my arms around his neck, press my nose to the most alluring scent on the planet (Henry’s warm skin), and relish in the fact that he loves me.

Henry. Loves. Me.

Celine is in a recliner. She’s mostly quiet, observing, but there are times when she speaks up when the four of us talk about a childhood memory. Navie has a plastic kitchen she’s standing at, while wearing some old dress up cowboy clothes.

“Is your neck hurting?” Henry asks.

I roll my shoulders and flex my head side to side. “Only a little crick.”

He stands and goes to me. “How come I was the one raised in Colorado, but you say hick things like ‘crick’?”

“Because there are hicks in California and I’m one of them, I guess.” I point to Navie. “Her outfit was yours, though, so that’s saying something.” I try not to close my eyes at how good his hands feel on my neck and shoulders.

I fail.

“I think I used to wear that get-up to bed every night,” he says.

“Oh yes, he did,” Celine says. “He was a cowboy through and through for a long while. Probably until you started school, right, Henry?”

“We had to wear uniforms in my school, so after that, I lost touch with my inner cowboy.”

“Please tell me there’s a photo somewhere of your cowboy-ness.”

Celine laughs. “I know there’s one somewhere.” She motions to the piles of photos all over the floor. “You’re in the right place to find it.”

I look across the room at Oakley and Alec. Oakley’s smiling at a photo, and showing it to him, and he’s clarifying something. She nods and puts it into the correct file by year.

“I wish I’d been better about writing the dates on the back.” Celine shakes her head. “I was in such a fog those years.”

“You were the mother of six little boys that you raised mostly on your own. That’s tough,” Oakley says.

“Yeah, my head would have been the same,” I add. “I don’t know if I’m out of the fog even though Navie’s three and she’s my only one.”

I thought we’d have more. That was the plan. Before.

Henry told me from day one he wanted lots of kids. We couldn’t ever agree on what “lots” meant, but sometimes in our conversations about our future, we landed on four—a compromise between my suggestion of three and his wanting five.

“Quinn, I’m sorry you have to head home to Irvine sooner than you’d expected,” Celine says.

I can’t help but glance at Henry. “Me, too. But it’s good that my uncle can’t keep harassing me now.”

“You’re leaving on Sunday?” she asks.

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