What Happens Between Friends. Beth Andrews
forced his fingers open and stepped forward. “It’s fine.”
Hesitating at the door, looking unsure and vulnerable—neither of which suited her—she rolled her eyes. “It didn’t seem fine.”
True. His mother had been less than welcoming and gracious—both of which were unlike her. “She’s probably just tired. Plus she’s stressed about her classes starting next week.”
“Classes?”
He crossed to the antique, marble-topped table his mom used as a nightstand and turned on the lamp. Better, but the room still seemed too cozy. Too intimate.
He blamed the king-size bed.
“Mom’s going to attend Seton Hill part-time.”
The Catholic university was one of a dozen or so colleges located in Pittsburgh, a forty-minute drive from Shady Grove.
Sadie finally stepped into the room. “Yeah? That’s great. You must be really proud of her.”
He was. Of course he was. If his mom wanted to get a college degree, to pursue a career in social work, then he was all for it. But it would mean changes. Adjustments. Not to their family life as much as to Montesano Construction. From the time Frank had started the company, Rose had managed the office. She planned on continuing in that capacity while she earned her degree part-time, but eventually, she’d leave to follow her newly formed dream.
It just proved you were never too old to change course.
Though James was too firmly entrenched—in his life, his father’s business, his place in his family—to even think about changing his.
Why would he? he thought, flipping on the light on the tall dresser, then the one on the round table in the seating area. He was right where he was meant to be, working a job he was good at and enjoyed, surrounded by family and friends he loved.
He was content.
And how many people could truly say that?
“Shower’s this way,” he said, walking into the large bathroom, Sadie following.
“Oh, dear, sweet Lord,” Sadie breathed. She turned in a slow circle, her eyes wide as she took in the room. Dark woodwork, free-standing sinks on Italian marble, a separate area for the toilet, large whirlpool tub and walk-in shower. Not to mention the heated tiles beneath their feet and a closet the size of most bedrooms.
James grinned. It was one hell of a room, one of Montesano’s best. They’d redone his parents’ master suite five or so years ago, completely gutting what had been a utilitarian bathroom and turning it into what his mother deemed her oasis.
Women and bathrooms. He may not completely understand why they went so crazy over them, but he could appreciate their enthusiasm over a well-designed room.
He leaned against the vanity as Sadie opened the door leading to the closet and peeked in at his parents’ clothes. She’d slipped off her sandals downstairs, had mud splattered across her bare, narrow feet and up her calves. Her bright orange top—one of those wide-necked ones with flowing sleeves that reminded him of something a gypsy would wear—was wrinkled, her yellow pants ruined.
She was a mess. A walking disaster.
She’d grown her hair out from the short bob it’d been three years ago. It reached past her shoulders, the wheat-colored strands streaked with thin stripes of pale blond. But even with it frizzing to twice its normal size, and mascara smudged under her eyes, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
For the past twenty years, he’d been wishing like hell that she wasn’t.
Sadie pressed her nose against the glass-encased, walk-in shower.
“Did you just whimper?” he asked.
“It has three showerheads,” she said, turning her head to the side, her arms wide as if giving the shower a hug. “Three. It deserves a good whimper. Maybe even a moan or two. And this...” She stepped to the side, sat on the edge of the tub. “It’s huge. Big enough for a small family. Or a large dog.”
“Not going to happen.”
“What’s not?”
“You giving that dog a bath in my mother’s tub.”
After drying him off, they’d left Elvis in the garage with blankets and a bowl of water and a plate of roast beef Rose had given them.
“What is this world coming to?” Sadie asked, setting her bag on the floor. She bent to dig through it, her long hair falling forward, her top gaping, giving him a glimpse of her lacy, white bra, the curve of her breast. “It’s so a person can’t even think about something without getting shot down.”
Straightening, James jerked his gaze up. “Trust me,” he muttered. “Some thoughts are better nipped in the bud before they can fully form. Besides, you can give the dog a bath when we get to my place.” He pretended great interest in rearranging the hand towel on the pewter ring next to the sink. “You have any idea how long you’ll be in town?”
She set a pile of clothes at the end of the counter. “I’m not sure. A couple of weeks? Maybe a month. But no longer than that,” she added firmly.
A chill swept through him. A month?
Aw, hell.
As they’d gotten Elvis set up in the garage, Sadie had asked if she could bunk with James. She often stayed at his place, preferring it over going home to her parents’ house—she and her mother got along better if they weren’t in constant contact with each other. But usually, Sadie’s trips home were a few days, a week at the most. Now he was stuck with her for only God knew how long.
Stuck with having her underfoot. With her warm smiles and nonstop chatter and the way she hummed all the freaking time. With her floral scent following him from room to room, with her barefoot in his kitchen, using every clean dish he had just to make scrambled eggs and toast, her lithe body in nothing but a tank top and shorts.
He’d be insane in two days. Three, tops.
Something major must have happened to have her staying in Shady Grove for so long. He’d suspected that out in the driveway when she’d clung to him. Sadie wasn’t the clinging type. She didn’t let mistakes or failures slow her down, let alone get her down.
He wanted to ask again what was going on with her, but he’d wait. He had a party to get back to and she was wet and probably cold, though she hadn’t complained. There would be plenty of time for her to tell him what was wrong. Why she’d come back.
If she meant what she’d said about staying for a month, there would be plenty of time for him, too. Time for him to get used to having her around again. And to prepare himself for when she left.
He stepped to the door, held on to the handle. “I’ll let you get cleaned up. Towels are in there,” he said, nodding toward the narrow linen closet to his left. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
She stopped him with a hand to his forearm, her long fingers cold, her short nails painted a sparkly dark blue. “Thanks, James. For everything. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she said, her voice soft and unsteady, her gaze sincere. “You’re a good guy and a really good friend.”
Unable to speak, he nodded, forcing his lips into the semblance of a grin. It wasn’t until he’d slipped into the bedroom and shut the bathroom door behind him that he let his mouth flatten. He tipped his head back and exhaled heavily.
A good friend. That was all he’d ever been to her. All he ever would be.
It was his own damn fault he wanted so much more.
CHAPTER THREE
CHARLOTTE ELLISON HAD a life plan.
She’d thought this through in its entirety, had weighed the