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“I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to pry.”
She smiled at me, and I realized something about Lily. She was the kind of person who never faked her emotions. She was also filled with an overabundance of sincerity and sympathy. Or maybe, by comparison, I just found myself lacking.
Like right now. Compassion radiated out of her like a beam from the sun. Even while I was poking my nose in her personal business—a bad habit of mine—she was eager to share. Rather than telling me to shove off, she fed my curiosity.
“It’s fine. I was two, and I don’t remember. My mom was from Texas, so we moved back out there. Unfortunately, she only had a great aunt still living. So when my mom was killed in a car accident when I was nine, I was sent into the foster care system. Her aunt was already suffering from Dementia.”
I stared at her, completely baffled. “How in the world are you so goddamn happy all the time?”
She laughed, her smile amused but her gaze serious. “We don’t get to pick the cards we’re dealt. All we can do is make the best with what we’re given.”
That was the moment my respect and admiration for Lily Breaux escalated to the top tier of my esteem. She’d been dealt the shittiest hand there was. All jokers and deuces, it seemed. And still, she was the kindest and happiest person I knew. Outwardly, anyway. And she shared her joy and creativity with open arms. She deserved a little reciprocation.
“I bought my first house recently,” I told her, changing the subject abruptly.
“Oh, wow! That’s amazing! Congratulations.”
“It’s not my dream house. Not yet. Teacher salary, ya know?” I quirked a brow.
She nodded and laughed in understanding.
“Anyway…” I unscrewed the cap of my water bottle. “I’ll be having a housewarming party pretty soon. I’d love it if you’d come.”
“Me? Really?” Her blue eyes rounded with surprise. “I’d love to. That’s so sweet.”
“Great. I don’t have details or anything yet. I want to get past Homecoming and this play I’m in first.”
“At BPAL? What play?”
“Barefoot in the Park.”
“I love that movie! It’s so funny and cute. So you’re playing the wife? One of the newlyweds?”
“Yep. Corie Bratter. It’s my first lead role, and I’m nervous as all hell. But I’m having a blast, too.”
“I bet you’re amazing. You’re so confident and good at everything you do.”
Was I? I never saw what others saw when they observed me. I was always finding the imperfections.
“Who’s your male lead? Wait, excuse me.” She snapped her fingers at two boys who passed. Football players. Twice her size. “No, sir.” She shook her head at the biggest one and held out her hand. “Give that to me right now, Preston.”
“Aw, come on, Ms. Breaux. I’m seventeen.”
“I don’t care. No tobacco products on campus. You know the rules.”
He rolled his eyes and reluctantly handed over a can of snuff.
Damn. Little Miss Lily had a spine.
I took back my earlier observation: she was now at the tippy-top of my tier of admiration. Hell, we should totally be friends. And that was not a light sentiment coming from me.
She tucked the chewing tobacco into the pocket of her blue dress. “You were saying?” she asked, all politeness again.
I tried to remember where our conversation ended. But before I could answer who my lead male was, she gasped and said, “Bennett Broussard.”
“What?” I asked, incredulous. “How’d you guess?”
“Guess what?” she asked, gaze still on the dance floor.
