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“You’ve got to actually talk to her,” Carson whispers.
Trig pulls a beer bottle from the bucket and points the neck at me. “You haven’t said a single word to her since she got here.”
“It’s been two minutes,” I grind through my teeth. “And I don’t need your help with this.”
They literally just got here. I opened the door, and Krissy rushed the kids while Millie pulled Sarah and her friend Roxie into hugs as if they were long-lost friends. So, I took the pie from Sarah and stepped aside.
I set it on the counter and crack open my beer. “Just mind your own damn business or go home.” I lean back against the counter and take a cool, fizzy swig. “I will handle this my way so you two busybodies can go practice your elite social skills rather than pester me.”
They glance at each other. “If you blow the opportunity we set before you, we aren’t helping you anymore.”
“Is that a promise?”
They groan and leave my kitchen, allowing me the moment of peace I need. I’m not nervous. I’m just anxious with all these people in my space and those buffoons making eyes at me every two seconds like they’re some kind of matchmaking queens.
I don’t want to be watched or forced. I want to get to know Sarah and have this unfold if and when it’s supposed to. Slowly.
I will never tell these assholes, but I may have peeked at the book Wind left in my chair. It drones on about the grieving process. I might have gotten stuck in stage two some time ago, but they don’t need to know that either. I’m working on it.
The book says these things take time, and that’s what I’m doing, taking my slow ass time.
Krissy’s head pops through the doorway. “Quit hiding in here. You’re being rude to our guests,” she whispers.
I take another long swig of my beer and push out a breath.Maybe I can convince Ollie to go outside.
I leave the comfort of my kitchen and join the crowd in the living room. Carson and Trig stand along the far wall, each holding a beer. Trig elbows Carson. When their gazes land on me, their lips slide into smirks, and my middle finger covertly waves in their direction.
They laugh, and I want to grab them by their necks and drag them to the front yard.
“It’s wonderful to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you and these sweet kiddos,” Millie says as Wind throws his arm around her shoulders on one end of the sectional. Next to Wind, her small frame looks even smaller.
Sarah sits on the other end, her hands around Frankie, who’s standing against the back of the couch, inching her way to Krissy’s outstretched arms.
Her friend, Roxie, is beside her with Ollie in her lap, his plane doing aerials through the air.
“Your eyes are absolutely mesmerizing,” Mille says as if she’s unable to look away.
“Have they always been like that? Two different colors?” Wind asks, and I want to reach across the room and smack him upside the head.
Sarah laughs. “Yes.”
“Kids at school used to call her a mutt,” Roxie says.
Sarah’s eyes lift to mine but drop away.
My hands ball into fists, thinking about anyone saying things like that to her, but I have no doubt she’s heard her fair share of cruel comments.
“They all ate their ugly words when she grew into a bombshell.”
“Rox,” Sarah warns.
“What? Seriously, look at you, and when you won—”
“Rox.” Sarah widens her eyes, stopping her from finishing her sentence.
Roxie frowns in return.
