“I walked here after work so I can’t drive,” Faith says, her shoulders hunching closer to her ears as we emerge into the cold, winter air. “Where are you parked?”
“Down in the public lot,” I say, leading the way. “I wanted to leave the closer spots for the ladies coming to bid.”
“Always the knight in shining armor,” Faith says with a laugh as she crosses her arms and shivers hard. “Brr! It’s freezing out here.”
“You need a better coat.” I put my arm around her shoulders again, sharing the warmth from my down-filled jacket.
“But this one is cute,” Faith says, making me snort. “What? I can’t be a girl sometimes?”
“You can be a girl anytime,” I say. “I encourage it, in fact. You can’t stay single forever.”
Faith snorts back at me. “I absolutely can. I need a man like I need untreatable cancer.”
“Ouch.” I wince. “That’s pretty harsh. I don’t think…”
I trail off as my gaze settles on a silver BMW parked a few spots away from my truck, and the woman hunched behind the wheel. Even with only the top of her head and her blue eyes showing above the dashboard, I know it’s Naomi.
I have Naomi-Whitehouse-dar.
I can sense her in my vicinity, like an enemy sub, cruising in for an attack.
“Well, life is pretty harsh.” Faith huddles closer to my side, oblivious to the fact that my ex-girlfriend is checking her out with a crestfallen expression that makes me wonder exactly what Naomi was thinking when she bid on me tonight.
Surely, she can’t think there’s a chance for the two of us to be anything more than friends.
Hell, even friends would be stretching things. Naomi violated my trust and hurt me in a way no one ever has, before or since. I don’t want to breathe the same air she breathes, let alone be her friend.
A part of me wants to stroll over right now and tell her as much, but I don’t. I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing how much she still gets to me.
Or that I’ve noticed her watching us.
I help Faith into the truck and circle around to the driver’s side, dropping my gaze to the ground and pretending not to see Naomi.
But I can feel her eyes on me every step of the way, making my skin prickle and a part of me sit up and take notice in a way I haven’t noticed a woman’s attention in a damn long time.
The irony that the woman is Naomi Whitehouse makes my mouth fill with a bitter taste I know beer will do nothing to chase away.
Chapter Six
Naomi
“I need those cookies. Now. Put them in my mouth.” Aria March, our third business partner, freezes just inside the door to Icing’s future home, a wild gleam in her green eyes that make me laugh.
“No, seriously,” she continues. “I need all of those cookies. Right now.”
“Are they ready, Maddie?” I stand with a groan, my back killing me after an hour on my hands and knees, chipping away the cracked, black and white tile that presently covers half the floor. “I could use a cookie break, too.”
Behind the hideous blue laminate counter we all agree has to be replaced no matter what the cost, Maddie slides fresh, salted caramel and dark chocolate oatmeal cookies onto a cooling rack. “Just let them cool for a few minutes so you won’t burn your mouths, and you can each have two.”
“No. All. All for me,” Aria says with a mock glare in my direction as she unwinds the scarf from her long, auburn hair and sheds her coat to reveal her adorable baby bump. The black turtleneck maternity dress she’s wearing minimizes the roundness of her tummy, but she’s definitely starting to show.
Aria and Maddie were friends in high school and attended the same pastry school in Paris and Maddie and I meet up with her almost every time we’re in town to visit our parents. But I haven’t seen her in a while. I didn’t know she was expecting. The first time we met up after I returned to Bliss River, I’d experienced that soul-deep pang of full-body sadness that hits me every time I see a pregnant woman.
But this time, the twinge only flashes through me for a moment before it fades away. I will always mourn Grace, the little girl I lost, but I’m increasingly hopeful that there will come a day when I’ll be able to look at an expectant woman again with nothing but shared joy.
Just last Monday, I signed up with an adoption agency out of Atlanta. By this time next year, I might have a child of my own. I know my chances of carrying a baby to term are slim—every doctor I visited said it would only be possible with close monitoring and lots of bed rest—and there certainly aren’t any prospective husbands on my horizon. And I see no reason to wait for one. I’m thirty-three, financially secure, and past ready to become a mom.