Page 3 of The Pocket Pair

Kitty Bishop is at the counter with one of her three teenage daughters—I can never tell the girls apart—and Judge Judie and her husband, Burt, are sharing an enormous slice of cake.

Mari winks at me while taking plates back to the kitchen, mouthing, Give me a sec. And there, at the farthest back table, I spy Tank Graham across the table from Val, whom I’d know even from the back. Her dark hair is twisted up into a messy bun, held in place by two thin paintbrushes and obviously some form of magic.

A smile tugs at my lips as I slide into the booth next to theirs, my back to Val’s. If I’m eavesdropping, it’s because I’m trained to pay attention to details. Not because I’m a nosy gossip like the rest of the town. I quickly pick up on the fact that they’re talking about Val’s paintings.

“Do you need me to send you pictures for approval, or do you want to come to the studio and look?”

“Winnie’s shown me pictures. You’re talented, and any of your work is good enough for me, Val.”

I can hear the smile in Tank’s voice, and I realize I’m smiling too. That’s my girl. Not that Val’s mine, per se. I’m proud of her the same way I was proud when my sister developed and sold an app—something I wouldn’t begin to know how to do.

Even when Val was a kid, she made these amazing crayon and colored pencil drawings. I know she’s had a hard time since college figuring out how to support herself as a full-time artist, but she’s talented. I’m happy to hear Tank thinks so too. Even happier that it sounds like he’ll be buying some of her paintings.

“What’s your timeline?” Val asks, and I hear her shifting behind me. “Because I actually have something coming up and may not have much time to—”

“Thanks for coming.” Mari chooses this moment to show up with a smile and a to-go cup of coffee.

I hold back a groan. What exactly does Val have coming up? She won’t have much time before what?

“You ask, I’ll answer,” I tell her. “Anytime.”

Mari’s eyes sparkle, but before she can respond, I feel movement against the back of my booth.

“Chevy?”

I swivel at the question and find myself face to face with Val, her surprised brown eyes inches from mine.

“Hey, Tiny. How’s it going?” I glance past her, tilting my head in greeting to Tank. He grins in return.

“Finish your talk,” Mari tells Val. “Then you can join us.”

Val gives me a small smile before we both turn back to our respective conversations. Though, if I’m being honest, my attention is not fully on Mari. I keep straining to hear what Val and Tank are talking about, wondering what she has coming up that would limit her time. A new job, maybe? I know she can’t stand her job at the art gallery. More specifically, her boss. Maybe this town has rubbed off on me, and I am just a nosy gossip.

“I need a favor.” Mari lowers her voice and leans across the table. Per the usual, she’s got a fresh flower tucked behind one ear, the pink bloom bright against her white hair.

However, not per the usual, Mari isn’t smiling.

“It’s regarding …” As she trails off, Mari juts her chin toward the table behind us. Toward Val.

Worry sprouts twenty heads inside my belly, all of them fire-breathing. “Is she okay?” I ask quietly.

“She’s fine,” she says.

“So, what’s the favor?”

Mari purses her lips. “I’d like for you to look out for …” Once more, Mari tilts her chin toward Val.

In a lot of ways, I’ve already been watching out for Val. Just like I would my sister. This feels … different. Unease squirms in my belly.

“Shouldn’t her boyfriend do that?” I have trouble not sneering when I say boyfriend.

Honestly, I’m surprised Val’s latest boyfriend lasted more than a week. The man might as well have loser tattooed on his forehead. I don’t need to spend quality time with Jared—Jason? Jensen?—to dismiss him. It took one look at the mullet he sports in a completely non-ironic way paired with a polo shirt and popped collar. Val’s fatal flaw seems to be her penchant to date men who are never good enough for her.

Winnie likes to say Val’s bad taste in men rivals my bad taste in women. My ALLEGEDLY bad taste in women. Aside from being surface deep, I don’t see what’s wrong with the women I date. The name of my dating game is casual. Surface-level women are just fine when we don’t ever dive deep. Or they were. Until Winnie cursed me with the pinky promise.

Mari’s smile stretches wide. “They broke up.”

“Did they, now?”

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