Page 17 of Between Now and Forever
“Okay . . .”
“Della, our friend Scottie, and I all get together on the first Saturday of the month. We have cocktails at one of our houses at seven. This month, we’re at Della’s. So if I don’t see you before then, I’ll see you there.”
“What if I can’t come?”
She laughs and makes her way down the sidewalk. “You can come, or I’ll come get you. You only have to go across the street. No excuses.”
It’s very matter-of-fact—a simple explanation to a question she deems a joke. Even though people demanding my time usually make me want to push back, this time, it feels nice.
“I’ll see you there,” I say just before she’s too far down the street to hear me.
Before I close the door, I glance to my left. I hope the darkness conceals my wide eyes at Jay’s shirtless figure across the way.
My gaze follows the lines of muscle down his back. The security light overhead illuminates him. He grabs something from the cab of his vehicle and then heads back to the house. But just as he reaches the garage, he looks my way.
His steps stutter. My heart skips a beat.
I wait for him to say hello or smile. Instead, I only get a half wave, half salute before he disappears into the garage.
“Men,” I mutter, shutting the door behind me.
CHAPTER FIVE
GABRIELLE
What in the world . . .”
I groan, shielding my eyes from the bright morning light. The sound coming from beneath my bedroom window begins again.
My body aches as I roll onto my side. Muscles I didn’t know I had throb. Scratches litter my arms and legs, thanks to my fall from grace yesterday.
I want to curl up on the soft mattress and go back to sleep. But I’m jostled awake not only by the thumping outside but also at the time shown on the clock—nine thirty.
“Crap,” I grumble.
The hardwood is cool against my feet. I reach into my small closet and grab my robe, tying it haphazardly as I head for the stairs. Both boys’ bedroom doors are open, and the rooms are empty.
“Boys!” I call down the staircase as I try not to trip over the edge of the robe. I poke my head into the living room. “Dylan? Carter? Where are you guys?”
I take the corner to the kitchen and almost run into my oldest son.
“You scared the shit out of me,” I say, jumping back.
“Better go wipe your ass, then.”
“Dylan James.”I glare at him. “Watch your mouth.”
“Sorry.”
He’s not sorry.
I pour myself a cup of coffee, thankful for automatic machines.First things first.“Where’s Carter?”
“Your golden child rode his bike to the park with a kid we met yesterday.”
“Does this kid have a name?”
Dylan shrugs.
