Prologue
Autumn
* * *
“It’s his ass and you know it.”
Magnolia has to cover her mouth as she laughs and haphazardly sets the wineglass down, doing her best not to lose any of the sweet wine with the motion. I’m awful glad I waited to take a sip until Renee said what she wanted to say. She’s the comedic one in our group of four. Twirling a lock of auburn hair, she leans back, her wicked hazel eyes glinting. Renee is sharp and shameless.
But it’s definitely not his ass. At least not for me. My comment remains unspoken because we’re discussing Sharon’s crush, after all.
“Renee, you know darn well I am not a butt lady. I couldn’t care less about what’s good on the backside.”
“But he has a really nice ass,” Renee insists, completely ignoring Sharon.
With the mason jar string lights hanging above us, Sharon’s patio offers plenty of light, even as the southern sun sets in a beautiful hue of marigold and rose. Add in the wicker furniture, a touch of salt in the air plus the smell of fall surrounding us, and I’m all for Wine Down Wednesdays starting up again with this group of friends. It’s been too long and I’ve missed them.
“What does Henry think of Mr. Morgan?” Sharon asks me and I instantly feel the telltale sign of a blush rising up my chest and making my cheeks flush.
My mother always told me I couldn’t hide a thing from anyone. My face gives away the truth every time.
“What does my son think of your crush?” I respond with a question and quickly take a sip of my wine, then another, buying time. Sharon called dibs on Trent Morgan in before I had even walked my son into the preschool for his first day. That was almost a full year ago.
Now that school has started back up, I have to see that handsome face every day, my words stumbling and my laughs coming a little too often every time he talks to me.
He’s off-limits. My son’s teacher and my friend’s secret infatuation.
Truth be told, even if Sharon hadn’t claimed Trent in our group of single ladies, I wouldn’t have the guts to make a move.
Single mom and a little shy is what would be on my dating profile … if I had one. I’m rusty, to say the least, and haven’t been on a date in over a year, other than horrible disasters which are “events that shall not be named,” according to this particular group.
They’re all still looking at me, waiting for an answer. Does my son like Trent Morgan?
Finally I shrug, setting my wineglass down and leaning back in my rocking chair. “You know all the kids love Mr. Morgan. He’s the fun one who makes the best airplane sound effects.”
All eyes are still on me as if they can tell exactly what I’m thinking, so I add a little comment: “They don’t like him the same as you, though.” Chuckles lessen the nerves racking me.
Little nerves that wish I’d make a move. Little nerves that pine from a distance just to see that smile again.
Trent
Any minute now. The exhale after my first sip of coffee, with just a touch of cream and a touch of sugar, is long and impatient. Any minute now she should walk through that door.
The doors open, catching my attention, but the person who enters isn’t who I’m waiting for.