Page 12 of Screwed (Dad Bod Contracting 4)
When I’m done, Imogen is quiet for a while. “And planning my wedding just reminds you of Craig.”
I nod. “Yeah. I didn’t think it would be this hard.”
“Did you have wedding plans when he passed away?”
I shrug. “I mean, yeah. Of course. You’ve known you and Jesse are going to get married for a while now…and I bet you were planning it in your head for months before he ever proposed.”
She laughs, nodding. “Yeah, I was.” Imogen sobers, then. “I get it, Nova. I really do.”
“I’m sorry, Im. I really am. I’ve been fighting this realization for weeks now, but last night it just…it all came to a head. I was looking at venues for the reception, and one of them was the place I’d picked for Craig’s and my reception. And I just…I lost it.”
“I understand, I promise.” She reaches into her folder, rifles to the very back, where she has a business card for another local event planner tucked into the very bottom of the folder pocket. “I felt you pulling away from this for a while now, and while I was hoping you’d keep going, I figured it couldn’t hurt to be prepared in case my intuition was right.”
“You’re sure you’re okay with this? I care about you, and our friendship, Imogen. I just—”
Imogen wraps me up in a tight hug. “I promise you, I’m fine. There’s plenty of time. And plus, this way, you get to be in the wedding and party with us at the reception.”
I grin as I pull away from the hug. “Thanks for understanding.”
She shrugs. “We’ve all got our stuff, you know?” She eyes me sideways, and there’s not time to forestall the comment I feel coming. “James has his stuff, too.”
“ARGH!” I shout, shooting to my feet. “Not this again.”
She bites her lip, hiding a smirk. “Wow, okay. Abrupt reaction.”
“I just got the full-court press from Laurel about it. I seriously can’t handle anyone else trying to push me and James together.”
“No one is trying to push anyone,” Imogen says. “It just makes sense, and you guys have obvious chemistry. We just don’t know why you both refuse to see it.”
“We see it, okay?” I snap, knowing I’m unfairly lashing out at Imogen. “We see it. We’ve acknowledged it. We just don’t want to act on it.”
Imogen shakes her head. “That I do not comprehend. But it’s your life, your business. I just want to see you happy.”
I frown. “Who says I’m not?”
Imogen purses her lips to one side. “Ummm, well?”
I huff. “Never mind, I don’t want to hear the answer to that.”
Imogen snorts a laugh. “In denial?”
“If that’s what you want to call it, sure.” I stand up and give her a hug. “I have some things I need to get done at home.”
Imogen walks me to the door. “Skedaddling just in time, huh?”
I frown at her, pausing on the porch. “What do you mean?”
She gestures at the tools. “The guys are all working here today. They just had to go pick up some supplies. By which I mean they used the excuse of needing more nails as a reason to day-drink, but whatever. I’m getting a pretty remodel done for the cost of materials, so who am I to begrudge them some lunchtime beers on a Saturday?” She points down the road at Jesse’s truck, which is approaching with a throaty diesel rumble. “Here they come now.”
I groan. “Yeah, I better get going before everyone shows up and I have to go through yet another round of James this, and James that.”
Imogen laughs. “Smart. Jesse and Franco are just as bad about the gossip and drama as the rest of us girls.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” I say as I head down the steps. “For a bunch of big, macho construction dudes, they sure do like to yap.”
Imogen cackles. “Oh, honey, you have no idea. Jesse’s favorite topic for pillow talk is gossip.”
I hang in the open door of my car a moment. “Gossip? About what? The rest of you guys are all shacked up and happy, so what is there to gossip about?”
She shakes her head. “You’d think, but no. The whole contractor, construction community around here is very, very small, so all the guys know everyone else. Going to Home Depot for them is like going to the salon for us—they hang out in the power tools and lumber departments gossiping about which guy nailed which girl and in which position. It’s funny, actually.”
“Jesse told you this?”
She nods, laughing harder. “Oh yeah. I know the names of every carpenter, electrician, plumber, roofer, framer, drywaller, painter, and flooring guy within fifty miles, and who they’re hooking up with, divorcing, and cheating with, or cheating on.”
I laugh. “Who knew?”
She holds up her hands. “I sure as hell didn’t.” Right then, Jesse’s truck idles to a stop at the curb, and he and Franco hop out. “Hey, babe!” Imogen calls. “How was the beer?”
