Page 12 of The Games We Play
I could always do it myself, but I already ran the weekday groups, and people would definitely get sick of my voice. Plus, with summer coming, it was time to take a serious look at the budget, which meant one thing: fundraising.
Last year, the Cassidys were kind enough to let me utilize their booth to help raise money. Though it was a hit, I didn’t want to be a nag and ask them again this year. That meant I had to get creative.
The mental load of the day had drained me completely, and the Word doc staring back at me felt like too much.
At this point, productivity was a lost cause, and I decided it was time to call it quits and head home.
Besides, I had plans to go out with my friends tonight.
In the last year, our group grew in size. Not to mention, grown closer, too.
Four months ago, Theo had her baby—Frankie, the cutest damn little girl I’d ever seen. She would bring her into the library sometimes, and every time I saw that stroller roll through the door, I couldn’t help but squeal.
Frankie was a mini Theo, with dark features and hazel eyes, but her personality? That wasallRhodes. It was uncanny, really, considering he wasn’t biologically her father. But that man loved that little girl with his entire chest. Watching them together made something tight squeeze inside me.
Then there was Boone’s little sister, Ellie, finally back home after nearly a year of traveling the country. Naturally, she’d slipped right into our circle like she always belonged. A lot had changed while she was gone, though, and catching her up had taken time.
So much happened the last year between babies, self-discovery, and new love I couldn’t possibly imagine what else life had in store for us.
Shoving my laptop into my tote bag, I grabbed my water bottle and made my way to the door. I needed time to get ready, to mentally prepare for the stress-inducing event I’d have to face tonight.
SeeingMac.
A heavy sigh escaped me at the thought.
It was unfortunate, really, that things between us hadn’t worked out. Not for lack of trying on my part, but because that man was a piece of work.
I couldn’t even look at him without my stomach flipping like a damn pancake and my anxiety spiking to nearly uncontrollable levels.
But if I wanted to go out with my friends, I had to suck it up because when we went to The Tequila Cowboy, Mac would always be there. I guess I could count my lucky stars that when I saw him, alcohol was always available.
Not a single one of our friends had any idea how much it cost me to show up every time because what Mac and Ihad? It was a secret that ended before it could ever turn into anything more than a friends-with-benefits situation.
Being near him made my heart race uncontrollably, my skin prickle with frustration, with anger. With everything I wished I didn’t still feel.
I waved as I said my goodbyes to Crystal at the circulation desk, who returned it with a warm smile. Pushing through the front doors, I stepped into the May air, my skirt billowing around me as I walked down the quiet street.
I lived just a few blocks away, in a small apartment above the local flower shop.
Sandy, the shop’s owner, had been running the place since her early twenties. It was her baby, the legacy she and her husband had built together. But after Hank passed away a fewyears ago, the shop—and the apartment above it—became hers alone.
Sandy was a godsend, the very definition of a Southern grandma. White hair teased into the perfect poof, a spunky spirit, and a slender frame that somehow still carried the strength of a woman who had spent her life tending to flowers and people alike.
Over the years, she’d come to think of me as the granddaughter she never had, and truthfully, I felt strongly about her, too.
Lifting my face to the sky, I let the last remnants of sunlight warm my skin as I made my way home. The streets of Faircloud bustled with familiar faces, and I greeted each one with a smile. In a town this small, you knew everyone. Pleasantries were exchanged in passing, conversations quick but genuine.
When I reached the flower shop’s entrance, I pushed open the door and leaned inside.
“Good evening, Sandy!” I called out, gripping the doorframe to hold my weight from falling inside. “Hi, my sweet Penelope!” she chimed, waving at me from behind the counter.
She wore my favorite apron—sage green with a white checkered print, the fabric soft and worn from years of love.
“Do you need anything before I head upstairs?” I asked.
Sandy wiped her hands on her apron, thinking for a moment. “I think I’m good today. Tomorrow may be a different story,” she replied with a grin.
“You know where to find me,” I answered, chipper as ever.
