“Really?” Kincaid’s expression lit—dangerously.
“What?” Liv asked after Kincaid continued to beam at her. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Kincaid clasped her hands together like a happy child. “Oh my God. You’re doing your letter!”
“I—”
“You are, aren’t you?” Taryn said, her smile spreading wide. “Damn. Now I’m going to look like a slacker. One day in, and you’re all in mission mode. Get it, girl.”
“I’m not in mission mode. I’m just…dipping a foot in. No, not even a foot. A toe. I’m dipping a toe.”
“No, no, this is good,” Kincaid said, shoving her plate aside, pancakes forgotten. “It’s not a toe dip. Don’t downplay it. This is like…a call to action. You’re throwing down gauntlets and shit. Go, Liv!”
Liv rolled her eyes. “There are no gauntlets. How were you not in drama club?”
“I have a hard time being anyone but myself,” Kincaid said with a dismissive flick of her hand. “But I’m serious. We should all make a vow to do something from our letters.”
Rebecca snorted and stabbed a piece of waffle like it had personally offended her. “Yeah, okay, let me get right on that. Any big political jobs just dying to have me? Any hot guys with husband potential wandering around? No? Okay.”
“The cook looks pretty cute,” Taryn offered. “I mean, if face tattoos are your thing.”
Rebecca grabbed a blueberry off her plate and chucked it at Taryn, who laughed and batted it away, almost knocking her glasses off her face in the process.
“No, I’m serious,” Kincaid said. “A husband or job change might be tough right out of the gate, but what about the dog you wanted? You could get a dog.”
Rebecca’s expression went deadpan. “I’m not getting a dog.”
Kincaid shook her head with a tsk. “There is a dog somewhere in a shelter who will go to a mean family with kids who will torment him if you don’t adopt him this weekend. Think about that, Rebecca. Bartholomew is waiting for you. Looking for a nice, calm house and a woman he can cuddle with. Are you going to let him down? Are you going to break his little, orphan doggy heart?”
Rebecca gasped and turned to Kincaid. “That is beyond messed up. You are laying dog guilt on me—about an imaginary dog.”
“Doesn’t have to be imaginary.”
“Kincaid, stop,” Liv said. “No guilt trips. If we do stuff in our letters, it’s because we want to. We can’t be forced into it.”
“Fine.” Kincaid lifted her hands and tipped her chin up. “I will leave sweet, orphaned Bartholomew out of this.”
Rebecca’s blue eyes narrowed. “I hate you so much right now.”
Kincaid leaned over and smacked an air kiss next to Rebecca’s cheek. “It comes from a place of love, Becs.”
“Uh-huh.”
Taryn sipped her coffee. “Outside of dog guilt, I think it’s a good idea, but I’d need some time to think through what I’d want to do.”
Liv nodded. Taryn’s letter had been a lot more academic than theirs. She’d promised to figure out why the tragedy had happened so she could help with prevention. Out of all of them, she’d gotten the closest to following that path by becoming a forensic psychologist. But she was asking a question that might not have a real answer—at least not one that could be uncovered.
“Maybe it doesn’t have to be about tackling some letter,” Rebecca said, drawing all their attention. “I mean, my life is fine. I don’t need a dog or to turn my world upside down or to switch jobs. I don’t need the husband either. But maybe what I could use is…this.”
Liv leaned back in the booth. “This?”
“You three.” Rebecca shrugged, her gaze shifting downward like her plate had become super interesting. “I’m not going to lie. This still feels a little weird since we haven’t seen each other in so long, and I’m not exactly a Ya-Ya Sisterhood kind of girl. But y’all are different from the friends I have now. They’re mostly coworkers and mostly men, and there’s all this competition wrapped up into it. Being around you three is much more…relaxed.”
“You mean with the busting into hotel rooms and the cops being called? We’re super low drama,” Kincaid teased.
Rebecca tilted her head in a come-on-now look. “I just mean that I don’t have to be on all the time, watching what I say, how I say it, how I come across. I don’t have to be professional with a capital P. It’s nice.”
Liv considered her. Rebecca had been the overachiever as long as Liv had known her. Rebecca had cried in fourth grade when she’d gotten a B on her report card. And it was no secret that her dad was some high-falutin’ attorney and didn’t accept less than the best from his kid. Liv had her own brand of pressure from her family, but she couldn’t imagine how it must’ve been to feel like a failure if you didn’t knock it out of the park every time on every play.
Kincaid leaned into Rebecca and bumped shoulders with her. “Are you saying you miss us, Becs?”
She rolled her eyes. “Some of you.”
Kincaid grinned.
“It’s not just that, though. That year afterward, we had each other’s backs. There was no judgment. No bullshit. It was just…space to be whatever we needed to be right then. People who wouldn’t bail on you even when you were messing up. I miss having that.”
Liv’s chest tightened, memories of those months after pressing down on her. The night after her mother’s funeral when they’d dragged Liv out to see a midnight movie marathon at the dollar theater and didn’t judge her when she snot-cried at the funny parts. Or the morning she and Taryn had picked up a banged-up Kincaid from a police station in Austin after she’d gotten in a fight at some frat party where she wasn’t supposed to be. The day they’d gotten Rebecca drunk on cherry wine when her father had told her she had to go to his alma mater instead of the college she wanted most. They’d let each other see the ugly stuff—the thing best friends did for one another even though they’d never declared themselves as such.
Liv swallowed past the growing knot in her throat, the memories driving home the realization that she didn’t have people like that in her life anymore. She had friends, people she liked and had fun with, but none she’d trust with her secrets. None who would’ve offered to braid her hair after a panic attack like Kincaid had last night. Even her dad had conditions on their relationship. She’d found that out in college.
“I think you’re right,” Liv said, tapping Rebecca’s foot beneath the table to get her to look up. Liv gave her what she hoped was an encouraging smile. “Step one needs to be not letting another decade pass with us being strangers. I miss this, too.”
Kincaid sat up straighter, eyes bright. “Is it weird that I just had the deepest urge to put our hands together at the center of the table and do some ‘All for one’ cheer?”
“Yes,” they all said in unison and then laughed.
“No cheering.” Rebecca gave Kincaid a look and used her lawyer tone. “I have my limits.”
Kincaid was unfazed. “Fine. But y’all realize this is a binding agreement now? I will hunt you down if you three disappear on me again.”
“I believe you,” Taryn said and leaned over to Liv and mock-whispered, “That bitch is crazy.”
Liv nodded. “And that from a licensed professional.”
Kincaid beamed. “Stop going on and on about how much y’all love me.” She pulled out her phone. “Now, let’s start by getting something set up for pictures. I have an epic pancake blog I need to plan now. You ladies can eat the spoils of war if you want to join me and Liv.”
Liv’s phone vibrated on the table, and she glanced down at the screen where the word Office flashed. She silenced it and frowned. She’d sent an email to her boss telling him she wouldn’t be in until late afternoon. “We’ll set something up soon. I have to get into the office and see what’s on my d
ocket, but hopefully I can free up this weekend or the next.”
“No problem. I can be pretty flexible unless I have a showing or open house scheduled. Would you want me to come to your place and cook? I live on the other side of the lake, so it’d be a drive for you. I don’t mind going into Austin if that makes it easier.”
“My place won’t work. I have a shoebox kitchen in my apartment, and I need a change of scenery to get out of my creative rut.” Liv shifted her gaze to her food. “I plan to…stay in Wilder on the weekends. So, I can come to you.”
“Wait. You’re staying in Wilder?” Taryn asked, dark brows lifting.
Liv shoved a bite of food in her mouth and shrugged.
“Like the same Wilder Finn’s heading to?” Kincaid’s voice had a little bit too much lilt in it. “Neighbors?”
“Something like that,” Liv mumbled. Thankfully, her phone buzzed again before Kincaid could push, and this time Liv grabbed for it like the lifeline it was. “Sorry, I have to take this.”
She excused herself from the table and put the phone to her ear. But not before she heard Kincaid say to the others, “We’ve got to up our game. Liv’s about to tackle a letter item and her football player. She’s officially become my patron saint.”
Liv didn’t have time to respond. Her boss’s voice making demands in her ear drowned out everything else.
“Pres—” She’d tried to say she was not in Austin and that she’d be there later today, but Preston wasn’t hearing any of it.
Office. Now. That was the only option he gave her.
She sighed and agreed to be there as soon as she could.
Apparently, she’d muted her real life long enough.
It was getting restless.
chapter
TEN
Finn dumped a load of sheets into the washer, music blasting from his phone, and poured in detergent. The mundane task was a soothing ritual he’d performed a number of times over the last few days while making the lake house livable. Livable first, and then he’d start working on the minor repair issues. He’d told his friend who owned the place that he’d get the house in shape so that it could go on the market in the fall. The guy thought Finn was doing him a favor, but Finn needed that kind of physical work to keep from going stir-crazy. Hopefully, it would work.
After two years of always being on the move, of being in life-or-death situations, of needing to be on alert one hundred percent of the time, he was having trouble getting used to the quiet solitude of the lake house. Logically, he knew he needed the downtime, but his body craved the adrenaline, the challenge. In between chores, he’d tried to substitute punishing workouts and long runs around the lake to feed that part of him. But he still couldn’t fully settle down.
Finn turned the knob to get the sheets going, and the loud rock music he’d been playing cut off, interrupted by a text message notification. He grabbed his phone from the laundry room shelf, expecting a check-in from his boss or a reminder to call in for his weekly chat with Doc Robson. Instead, he saw a different name lighting the screen: Olivia.
Liv: How goes it, Batman?
The simple message curved his lips, the sight of Liv’s name an odd relief, like taking a full breath after a long run. He flipped off the light and stepped out of the laundry room. He hadn’t heard from her in days beyond a brief chat soon message, and he’d started to wonder if their conversation in the car had been all talk, if she’d come to her senses. His thumbs moved over the screen.
Finn: Is this u checking on me to make sure I haven’t mounted the head of a desk clerk on my wall?
Liv: Basically
He chuckled in the quiet kitchen, the setting sun’s rays cutting orange stripes over the granite countertops.
Finn: His head is still attached though I suspect there’s not much in it
Liv: Good job. Everything else ok?
He hated that she was worried about him, hated that he’d given her reason to be. That was not who he was. He was the one who took care of things, the one who handled whatever came at him no matter the circumstances. Not the guy who couldn’t be trusted to control his actions.
Finn: Yep. Haven’t left Wilder. Just getting the place ready for habitation. My friend hasn’t stayed here for a while, so lots of freshening up to do. And now I sound like my grandmother…
Liv: U should get some potpourri & needlepoint throw pillows
Finn: Hush, Arias
Liv: What about a creepy Jesus painting? My grandma might’ve cornered the market on those, tho
Finn: Creepy Jesus might be awesome
Liv: No! *Still has nightmares of his eyes following me around* Jesus is watching, man. WATCHING.
Finn laughed as he grabbed a beer from the fridge and then made his way to the living room. He opened the bottle and stretched out on the couch, his mood lifting at the image of Liv reacting to his last comment, eyes big and smile wide.
Finn: Fine. No creepy Jesus. U have no sense of style. So R U going 2 B seeing my needlepoint pillows soon?
Liv: Is that flirting?
Was it? Probably. Even though he wasn’t supposed to be doing that with her. For some reason, he couldn’t help it with Liv. It didn’t even have to be sexual—though who was he kidding? That was always there. But she made him…playful.
No one who knew him now would describe him as playful.
Finn: I get all the girls w/ my needlepoint. Just wait til I show u my crochet.
Liv: My eyes just substituted a totally different word for crochet
Finn: Now who’s flirting?
Liv: Am not! UR a bad influence
Finn took a long pull on his beer and smirked.
Finn: Truth. But I promise best behavior when u visit. I turned u down the other night, remember? This isn’t an attempt to get u in a compromising position.
Liv: So now I’m not worthy of compromising? Whatever, Dorsey. *Flips hair*
Finn groaned despite knowing she was only playing the game and joking around. Just the thought of her on the other end of the line had warmth gathering low. Liv curled up on her couch after work, legs tucked under her, hair loose around her shoulders. Was she laughing at his jokes, picturing him in her mind like he was picturing her? How would she be if he were there next to her having this conversation? Would she still flirt so boldly? Would she blush when he teased back? Would her body react to his words the way his reacted to hers?
He shifted on the couch and adjusted his jeans, painfully aware of just how easily her words could get to him, but he didn’t want to make it awkward. He could play this game. He could pretend this wasn’t affecting him.
Finn: I would compromise u so hard, Arias, u wouldn’t be able to compromise w/ anyone else for weeks
Liv: Weird. I found that oddly hot.
Finn: Oddly Hot is my FBI code name
There wasn’t a response for a few seconds, and he wondered if he’d taken it too far. But just when he was about to type something else to shift the conversation, her message appeared.
Liv: Sorry, just spit water on my screen & my coworkers are looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. I shouldn’t text w/ u at work. UR going to get me in trouble.
Finn: UR still at work?
Liv: I’m always at work.
Finn: How’s the weekend looking?
Liv: Not great. Been nuts here. Crisis w/ a big account & my boss has been out most of the week so had to pick up slack. I can’t see getting caught up by Friday. But next weekend is a good possibility.
Finn frowned. Three days had passed since he’d dropped off Liv at the hotel. He’d been worried that it’d been a bad idea to invite her to stay across the driveway. But now that the possibility seemed to slip further away with her back in her real life, he found himself itching to make it happen.
Finn: Sounds good. No pressure. Just need to
know if I should clean out the room over the pool house next.
There. That sounded neutral enough, he hoped.
Liv: Outlook is good. Freshen away. I expect mints on my pillow.
Finn: Don’t have mints but do have a Costco-size bag of Starbursts because…priorities.
Liv: Score! Leave me the pink ones. Burn the lemon.
He laughed again and rested his head against the arm of the couch, feeling better than he had in a long-ass time.
Finn: Get back to work & stop slacking. I want u here next weekend & those websites aren’t going to build themselves.
Liv: Websites are lazy bastards. And u get back to not working, which for Recluse Dude means what? Beer & porn?
Finn: You. Don’t. Want. To. Know.
He said it as a joke. But based on the suddenly tight fit of his jeans, it was more accurate than he wanted to admit. He was turning back into a teenager where just a few flirty words from the beautiful Liv Arias had him pent up and hard.
Pathetic. He needed to get that shit under control before she got here, or he was going to embarrass himself.
Liv: See u soon, Batman.
The screen went dark, and Finn blew out a breath, staring at the ceiling and willing his body to behave. If a PG-rated text conversation did this to him, what was it going to be like knowing Liv was just across the driveway? He closed his eyes and drained the rest of his beer.
Masochist. He was a goddamned masochist.
* * *
A week later, Liv stared at her screen, her eyes trying to close as she adjusted the aspect ratio on a header for the hundredth time. One of her most important clients had changed her mind ten different times on how she wanted the home page to look, and now nothing was looking right to Liv. She’d worked twelve-hour days, including last weekend, and now her brain was staging a protest, marching around with signs and blocking any solutions.
It hadn’t helped that she’d barely slept the last few days. Since agreeing to spend weekends at Finn’s, she’d felt a constant hum of anxiety, which was making her wonder if she was doing the right thing. A whisper of unease could quickly turn into an all-out panic fest if she wasn’t careful. She could feel that old monster breathing down her neck, just waiting for a crack in the curtains so it could slip back into her life and take over.