Page 5 of Come Back to Me

Tee

Present day

Aware I’m doing a great impression of a goldfish, I gape at Zee, the most wonderfully epic, awesomely fabulous best friend in the whole Milky Way, and her husband.

It’s not that they’re standing so close together they might as well be in each other’s skins. (Cannibalism by osmosis?)

It’s not that I caught them making out this morning and I can officially declare that Colton Korhonen has serious game. (No, I’m not jealous because Zee deserves the universe, and if marrying the eldest Korhonen son achieved that, then good.)

It’s that Colton said, “If you want to move back to Pigeon Creek, Tee, then we have plenty of room here.”

Here being the Seven Cs ranch.

Here being our town’s equivalent of J.R. Ewing’s homestead.

HERE BEING THE HOME OF MY BEST FRIEND IN THE GALAXY.

“Did we break her?” Colton mutters when I continue staring at him like he’s grown a second head.

Zee snorts. “She’s being Tee.”

I’ll accept the fact my name is an adjective.

But I don’t care.

I can’t.

After Bitch Cassidy dumped me via a ‘Dear John’ letter, where he wished me ‘health and happiness’ like he was writing his bank manager a holiday card, the prospect of returning to New York City has been a nightmare. One less rudder holding me steady. Parker, my other BFF that Zee and I have shared custody of, is no longer in the tristate area and has returned to Ohio, so I’d literally be home alone.

I’m not Macaulay Culkin—I can’t be home alone. Home alone is a bad place for me, ergo Colton’s offer is a cowboy-shaped miracle.

My eyes fill with tears. “Are you sure, Colton?”

I know I’m doing a great impression of Anne of Green Gables, or do I mean Oliver Twist? After all, I’ve been handed a bowl of something for breakfast and it’s not gruel, but Morning Crisp—the breakfast choice for anyone with good sense.

But… nobody lets a BFF come and live with them and their wife.

I must have misheard.

Zee finally detaches herself from her husband’s side.

I’m shocked there isn’t a popping sound because they’re obviously attached via massive suction pads.

Her arm drifts around my shoulders and she tucks me in for a hug.

Because she gives the best hugs, I nuzzle my face into her throat, not surprised that she doesn’t jolt as I invade her personal space.

Hey, this is a friendship that’s twenty-four years in the making.

I know when she’s genuinely being cranky and when her blood sugar is off. I’ve had to shower, dress, and feed her whenshe can’t get her levels right. Hell, I’ve held her hand in a hospital bed when her hypoglycemia has been out of control.

And for all that, she accepts me. Embraces my kooky nature. Loves me despite my self-confessed whackadoodle personality.

Like she read my mind, she hugs me back—tighter than tight. “He means it.”

Her whisper has me sobbing as I peer at him over her shoulder, but I can’t wreck this for her, so I have to give him nothing but the truth: “I’m annoying, Colton.”

He clears his throat. “I’m sure you’re no?—”

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