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“Let’s just say…if it were up to me, there might be one less seat at the table.”
I know that’s harsh. Clearly, I’m not at my best tonight.
“Ouch,” she says, returning her eyes skyward as she takes another long drink from the bottle.
“How about you?” I ask. “How was your day?”
Busy’s lips tilt up at the sides. “Pretty good. Got a few pieces of furniture set up in Junie’s room and mostly took it easy. I went over to Briar’s for a bit, which was nice.”
“That’s your sister, right? She’s the one married to the guy who owns the grocery store?”
Busy snorts. “What kind of small-town boy are you?” she asks, though her question is teasing. “Don’t you know anyone’s names? Or is everyone classified by their job?”
Smirking, I roll my eyes, feeling sort of embarrassed becauseyes, that is how I keep track of people. “Not everyone in this town is a Mitchell. I probably couldn’t name more than a hundred people, if that.”
She gasps and slaps a hand against her chest. “Sacrilege.”
I just laugh and shake my head. “Apologies.” I narrow my eyes. “I’ll work harder at learning everyone’s names.”
“You better. I might quiz you on it.”
I watch her for a long minute as she takes another sip of her wine, my eyes roving along the elegant length of her neck and up to the apples of her cheeks before they drop down and focus on the plump pout of her lips, which I can only imagine now bear the tinge of stain from her drink of choice.
When she hands the bottle my way again, I take a much longer sip than I should, this time barely even noticing the taste.
“My dad was always a lot better at knowing people’s names,” I eventually tell her, remembering the easy way he talked with customers, and also the importance he placed on knowing people around town. “I never really picked up that skill.”
She hums and smiles. “How is your dad doing? Still owns the furniture store in town, right?
I lick my lips and stare at the bottle in my hands for a long minute.
“Dad passed away. ’Bout two years ago.” I want to take another long drink, but I refrain, reminding myself that drinking through my grief has only ever brought me even more sorrow.
“Oh, Reid. I’m so sorry,” she says, her voice soft. “I usually stay up to date on stuff that happens in town and I…didn’t know.”
I shake my head and give her a sad smile. “It hasn’t been that long, so…” But I trail off, not sure what else to say.
“Can I ask how he died?”
“Heart attack while he was alone in the shop.” I reach out and set the bottle on the coffee table.
It’s probably one of my greatest regrets. I was supposed to meet him for lunch, but I went on a hike instead, needing the time to myself and wanting to clear my head. Nature usuallyprovides that for me. I’ll never know what might have been different if I’d gone in, if he might still be here today.
“I’m so sorry, Reid.”
I nod like I do any time someone expresses their condolences, but when I look at Busy, I see my own grief reflected back on her face. It’s pained, as if she cared for him as much as I did. Something about that makes me feel grateful.
“How was the lake earlier?” I ask, knowing it’s an abrupt change of topic but not wanting to linger any longer on my regrets from the past.
Busy watches me for another beat before she follows my lead.
“It was really nice,” she finally says, looking back out to the water. “I forgot how wonderful it is to just float around in the water. In LA, I was over an hour from the beach, and even when Ididgo, there were waves, you know?” She shakes her head. “Lakes beat the ocean so hard.”
I nod. “I completely agree. I like the calm of it. It’s always steady.” Consistent. No surprises. “I’m almost embarrassed to tell you how long it’s been since I’ve gone for a swim.”
“Really? It’s right there.” She waves her hand in the direction of the lake, only about ten yards away from us, then reaches out and snags the wine again. “Weren’t you like, a swimmer? Wasn’t that your thing?”
“I was,” I say, surprised she knows that. “Iam. But sometimes you just…get out of the habit of doing something you love. Or you fall out of love with it.”
