Page 44 of Just Say When

I broke off a piece and popped it into my mouth, then washed it down with a swig of latte. “It’s good.”

“Right?” She busied herself with cleaning the nozzles on the espresso machine. “It must have been hard on your family when your mom passed, even though you weren’t children anymore. Your dad…” Her voice trailed off. She bit her lip and rubbed harder at the nozzle, until the metal gleamed.

“It hit him bad,” I acknowledged, because there wasn’t any hiding it. The whole town witnessed him drown his grief in a bottle of whiskey. “It took him a year or so to pull himself together.” I took another bite of muffin, another sip of latte. “It was hard on all of us, of course, because we loved her. But he took it hardest. You grow up kind of expecting your parents will pass on before you do, in the natural way of things. It’s different, losing a wife. The day Essie almost died scarred me, even though she survived it. I suppose it was the shock of nearly losing someone when I wasn’t expecting it. That puts a fear in a person.”

Chloe had been nodding along, but suddenly she stopped and tilted her head thoughtfully. “Well, isn’t that funny,” she murmured.

“I’d say there isn’t a damn thing funny about any of it,” I said, narrowing my eyes.

“Funny isn’t the right word, you’re right. Strange is what I meant. The day she almost died? Was that in high school?” she asked.

I nodded. “Did she tell you about it?”

“Only in passing. She never shared the details. The strange thing, though, is that she never said she almost died. She saidyoudid.”

I took that in. Turned the words over in my mind. Trying and failing to make sense of them.

“What happened that day, if you don’t mind my asking?” Chloe’s keen green eyes were locked on me.

“I don’t mind you asking, but it’s a story for another day,” I said. “I have to get to work.”

“Maybe I’ll ask Essie to meet me for lunch. She can tell me herself.”

“Essie’s out at Lodestar, so I doubt she’ll have the time to drive all the way to town.” I stuffed a dollar in the tip jar. “Thanks for the muffin.”

Chloe grinned like the Cheshire cat. “Oh, she’s home today. Wednesday is her day off. Didn’t she tell you?”

Essie was home? I’d taken to parking on the street to give her the garage spot, so I hadn’t noticed her SUV was still there when I left this morning. There hadn’t been a sign of her in the kitchen, either. She must have slept in.

A day off might be nice.

Before I could second guess myself, I had my phone out of my pocket and was texting Sylvia, my secretary, to clear my schedule as I was heading for the door.

“Have a good day!” Chloe called after me, her words laced with laughter.

Something occurred to me, and I paused at the door. “You were at my mom’s funeral. The whole town was.”

“I remember.”

My gaze narrowed. “Then why’d you act like you didn’t know how old I was when she died?”

She laughed. “Because I knew you’d correct me. There are lots of ways to get someone talking, Brax. That one happens to be yours.”

Fleetwood Mac was playingas I walked in the door. I was used to coming home to a quiet house. Empty, before Essie, and it might as well have been empty after Essie for all the noise she made. This was different. A good kind of different.

Averygood kind of different, I realized as I rounded the corner into the kitchen, because there was Essie, her back to me as she leaned over the countertop, scrolling her phone and eating cereal, the hem of her tee shirt riding up far enough to reveal a tiny pair of underwear cut to reveal the undercurve of her glorious ass.

Goddamn, that was a fine sight.

A strangled groan escaped me. She dropped her spoon and it clattered in the bowl as she whirled to face me.

That’s when I realized she was wearing my University of Colorado tee shirt. It was a little loose on her and hit right below her hip. And fuck, it looked good on her. Her face was bare, and while I loved the red lipstick she wore like armor, there was something about seeing her like this that made me ache.

“Hello, wife,” I said, and if I intended the words to sound ironic, I knew I’d failed. I sounded hungry.

“You’re home,” she squawked.

“You’re in my shirt,” I replied.

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