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I chuckled. “It’s not?”
“Not enough anyway.”
I smiled. Such a Cynthia answer. “So, I’m in town and wanted to stop by—if you have the time.”
“Didn’t you hear me? My days are running together. And anyway, I’d make time for you, Nash.”
My chest warmed. I needed to add Cynthia to my list of loved ones—and I definitely needed to find something for her to do.
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
She chuckled. “That sure of me, eh?”
“Hopeful,” I responded with a smile.
“See you soon, sweetie.”
I hung up and pocketed my phone.
“Let’s go,” I said to Brandon.
He nodded and slid out of the parking spot in the hotel’s underground lot. We sat in companionable silence. I never regretted hiring Brandon; as Chuck promised, he was easy-going and personable with a sharp gaze and ingrained professionalism. He was also from Cam’s former tactical team, and I respected him for his years of service as well as his continued dedication to his former unit. He’d been thrilled to get this gig because it allowed him to hang out with Chuck and some of the other guys on Cam’s team when we were all in Austin.
“You good?” he asked me, shooting a side-glance that I caught from behind his aviators.
“You mean do you need to worry about booze or pills?”
He nodded.
I shook my head. “I’m pissed off, not stupid. And I’m not falling off the wagon again. Ever.”
I refused. I would not make the same mistakes again. I couldn’t. Not if I wanted a shot at happiness. I winced, sure I didn’t deserve it. Not after what I did to Aya—what I’d done in my past.
“Good. If that changes, I need to know.”
I leaned back against the seat cushion. “You will.”
We arrived at Cynthia’s house, and she stepped out onto the wide, white wraparound porch. She was a bit thicker, a bit grayer, but her eyes were alight with intelligence and her smile wide. I turned to Brandon.
“If it’s okay with you, I’d prefer to have this conversation with her privately.”
He nodded. “I’ll wait here.”
I climbed out of the vehicle and headed toward her, sinking into her embrace like a long-awaited bath. It was warm and soothing and a balm to my confused heart. She wore the same perfume, and her linen dress was well-tailored to her generous figure.
“Good to see you,” she said.
“Same.”
“Want some iced tea?”
She gestured toward a pitcher and glasses arranged on a tray, along with a variety of little cookies nestled on linen napkins. I smiled. She’d always be a Southern lady.
“Sure.”
We settled onto the large white swing, and she handed me a glass—I knew better than to reach for the pitcher myself. She leaned back against the cushions.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked.
