Page 21 of Single Chance

“Hey, cutie patootie,” I said.

“Hi, favorite girl,” Presley said.

“I need to get her a high chair,” Chloe said.

“I’ll take her.” Presley held out her arms. “Come to Auntie Presley, Sutton.”

Sutton pointed at her and said, “Guh!”

“I’ll be right back.” Chloe set Sutton on Presley’s lap, hung the baby bag over her chair back, and went off for a high chair.

Sutton stared at me curiously, so I shot her a smile. “I’m Rowan. I met you at your mommy and daddy’s work. Your outfit is adorable.”

Sutton held out both arms to me.

Presley’s mouth gaped open. “You want Rowan instead of me? I’m shattered!” She winked at me as the little girl, unbothered, leaned toward me.

When I made room, Presley transferred Sutton to my lap.

“Hi, cutie pie.” I pressed a kiss to the top of her head, hugged her, then handed her my spoon when she pointed at it.

“You’re a natural,” Presley said. “You’ll make a great mom someday.”

I forced my brain to skip over that comment entirely and changed the subject.

“Tell me about your house,” I said.

Before she could say anything, Bria served us our entrees. My southern shrimp and grits had sounded so good when I’d ordered it, but now my stomach churned. My appetite had been wonky for months, likely due to stress. Lately it’d gotten worse rather than better though, with food bringing on a wave of nausea more often than not. It didn’t make sense, but then I knew grief could mess a body up just as much as stress.

Chloe returned, and we settled Sutton in her high chair then started into our meals. I took several small bites of grits, thinking getting something in my empty stomach would calm its uneasiness.

“God, this is good,” Presley said of her beer-battered walleye. “You might’ve married the wrong Henry brother, Chloe.”

Chloe laughed. “Cash is a good chef, but Holden’s my soul mate.”

“When’s Ava due?” I asked of Cash’s wife, the inn owner who’d been so welcoming from that very first night.

“In March. She’s got about six weeks left,” Chloe said.

“As long as her husband doesn’t stop cooking for me,” Presley said, grinning. Then her expression turned to a frown. “Chlo, favor to ask. Can I sleep on your sofa tonight? I’m thinking another drink would help dull the crampiness.”

“Bad periods?” I asked, able to relate to that with every fiber of my being.

“She gets horrible ones,” Chloe said. “For as long as I’ve known her.”

“I have endometriosis,” Presley said as she picked up her drink.

“I do too,” I said.

“It’s a big bag of suckage,” Presley said. “Do you have pain in between periods too?”

“Yessss. Like, eighty percent of the time.” I set my fork down hard once the words were out of my mouth, struck by a realization.

“Are you okay?” Chloe asked me, watching me closely.

I glanced up at her, my mind spinning. “Yeah. I just…” I shook my head. “I just realized I haven’t had that pain since I’ve lived here. Three weeks. That’s unheard of.”

“That’s wonderful,” Chloe said.

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