Page 5 of One Short Summer

Hudson seems to think the same since he looks ready to burst into laughter again. “I’m sure she is.”

I glance at him before starting to pick up our tools that are strewn across the grass. I could end this conversation right there, but for some reason, I feel like I need to defend myself. “I’ve been sharing a house with her for most of last year, Hudson. She doesn’t kill my writing mojo because I’m used to having her around.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him cleaning up beside me. “I see.”

“She’s my friend, and I want to help her. Is there something wrong with that?”

Hudson drops a hammer into Grandma’s old toolbox and holds up his hands, that same smile still tugging at the corner of his lips. “Not at all. I just said it was interesting. That’s all.”

“Hmm.” I don’t believe for a second this is it. Hudson likes to be “helpful,” like Grandma.

He stops what he’s doing and regards me with a more serious look. “For what it’s worth, I think Grandma is right. If there’s anyone who can help her, it’s you. I know firsthand that Charlie’s been trying whatever she could think of, without any success, and they’ve been best friends for most of their lives. It hurts her to see Monica that way, but you already know that. I’m glad you’re trying this your way. Hopefully it helps.”

The way he still studies me makes it seem like there’s more he wants to say. “What is it?”

“Nothing really.” His smirk returns, and he shrugs his shoulders. “I was just wondering if there’s an ulterior motive behind it or not. I mean, I know you spend a lot of your time in your office while she’s trying to avoid life as much as possible, but you two still spend some time together. There’s obviously something between you, that was pretty much visible from the very first time you guys met.”

I scoff. “You mean, when she first came here after her accident and pushed all my buttons as much as she could?”

Hudson laughs, pulling up his shirt to wipe his face. “You loved it. Don’t even pretend otherwise, or I’m calling BS.” He points a finger at me. “Plus, don’t tell me you aren’t attracted to her. I’ve seen you check her out more than once before.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” A grin spreads across my face before I can stop it.

Dang it.

I’m such a bad liar, and I’m pretty sure he can see straight through it, but I really don’t want to talk about it. There is nothing to talk about. Maybe there used to be a spark when we first met last year, but that’s long been burrowed under Monica’s inability—no,unwillingness—to get back to dancing, and therefore back to actually living, rather than simply existing. “We’re friends.”

Very good friends.

No matter how attractive I find her.

Chapter Two

Monica

Charlie opensthe door before I even have a chance to knock on it. “Thank goodness you’re here. I need some adult girl time before the little monster comes back, and while you’re here, you can help me clean up too. Pretty please.”

She grabs my arm and pulls me halfway through the foyer before I can even process her words. Good thing she’s been my best friend for as long as I can remember, or I would’ve whacked her over the head for manhandling me this way. “Hello to you too.”

Like she’s been burned, she drops my arm and spins around, a desperate glint in her eyes I haven’t seen very often. Charlie is the one with a quick smile on her face, the sweet one, the caring one. I take a moment to look at her, toreallylook at her. She’s never been someone who cares obsessively about her appearance—not that she needs it with that natural “beach babe” look she’s got going on.

Usually, she looks better than she does today though. Half of her hair has fallen out of her bun while her light-gray shirt is decorated with all sorts of undefinable smears and patterns.

“What the hell happened to you? You look like you cooked a meal for a whole football team while running a marathon.”

She wipes a strand of hair out of her face, and I notice the red, blotchy skin on her cheeks. It extends down her throat, all the way to her chest. A little knot forms in my stomach at the sight because I know she only looks this bad when she’s really stressed.

“I actually wish I’d have something like that to show off, but I don’t.”

Like a big blinking neon light, I now also notice the shadows under her eyes. And does she look paler than usual? I haven’t seen her in a few weeks, and worry immediately spreads through my veins, settling deep in my bones as my thoughts run wild with possible reasons.

I wave my hand up and down her body. “Are you okay?” Then cold dread settles in my stomach, clawing at my heart in a suffocating panic. “Is the baby okay?”

She nods, her hand automatically going to her belly, even though there isn’t much to show off yet at the beginning of her second trimester. “Yes, yes. We’re all good, no worries.”

Since Charlie has been obsessed with her pregnancy, devouring every possible pregnancy book and blog, I’ve learned a lot along the way. That’s the only reason I know a lot of women don’t show until they’re about five months along. We’re all just waiting for that belly topopovernight, like it seems to happen a lot.

After one more rub on her belly like it’s some magical genie lamp, she brushes the hair out of her face again. “It’s just been a long day and an even longer week, that’s all. Now, let’s go. The faster we clean up, the faster we can stuff our faces with the chocolate vanilla pastries I made for us.”

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