Page 83 of Whiskey Proposal

The abrupt one-eighty leaves my head spinning. I’ve been consumed with Emerson; Dad’s an unpleasant thought. “What does that have to do with anything?”

He presses both index fingers together and points to me like double-handed pistols. “That’s the extent of what you tell me. He’s not an easy guy, and I bet he makes you pay each time he gets you on the phone.”

“He doesn’t make me pay. He boasts about how he’s a big shot in prison and tries to get me to play his stupid power games.”

“Well, you’re not naming your first kid after him.”

“You don’t have to either. He’s not fucking Rumpelstiltskin.”

Cruz rolls a shoulder. “A deal’s a deal, and I owe him for helping Elodie, and she’s on board. So, what happened last weekend?”

“Nothing.” When he flattens his lips, I roll my eyes. “You were there. It was a nice visit.”

“I swear, Lane—” He blows out a noisy breath. “Did you at least talk to Myles?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. I did, and saying that might hurt my brother’s feelings. I’m the one who watches out for him. “She asked about a divorce.”

He doesn’t respond right away. “A divorce, not the divorce.”

There’s not going to be a fucking divorce. Irritation boils through my blood. Calm down. If Emerson doesn’t want to be married to me, I can’t force her. “Same thing.”

“Is it?” His gaze bores into me.

“I’ve got work to do.” I stand up. Dammit. I don’t have more work to do. I could find something, but it’d take me sitting at my desk, and then my mind would wander, returning to Emerson and how dismayed she was to find out that we were on a date.

“Why don’t you two come over this weekend? Invite Brooks and his daughter.”

“Why?”

“Why not have my neighbors over? Have you heard of a block party?”

We used to be the ones crashing parties around the neighborhood we grew up in. We don’t do that anymore. We’re invited now, or we’re the ones throwing the shindig. There’s no reason Emerson wouldn’t want to go, yet the thought of asking her and getting turned down pumps acid into my stomach.

“I don’t know if she’ll go. Emerson’s putting more distance than ever between us, determined that she and I can’t be a real thing. Fuck if I know why. We get along, we have great chemistry, and she seems to care about me almost as much as I care about her.” I hook my hands on my hips. None of that was supposed to spill out.

“She doesn’t have to come over. Ask Brooks and Hillary though.”

If they say yes, what’s Emerson going to do? Stay home while we all eat and laugh next door? What if Brooks says no?

I’ll take it less personally. And if they say yes . . . “I don’t like tricking her.”

“You’re letting her make her own decision.” He spreads his hands. “It’d be rude to not invite them just because she says no.”

“Always playing the loopholes.”

He grins. “I was never that tactful before, and you know it.”

Back in the day, Cruz never used to care about rules or the right way to do anything. Today’s Cruz is a standup guy. So that means his advice might be worth listening to. “I won’t go around Emerson and ask her brother first, but if she says no, I’ll invite them anyway.”

“It’s the neighborly way.”

Emerson

I squat in the middle of the lawn where Hillary’s refreshing the water for my dad’s old chickens. They look better than they did when I first arrived, and they’re laying more. Hillary’s started selling the eggs.

“You should see the new comforter Daddy bought,” she says.

I reach a hand out. Jack is waddling closer. I cluck and the hen looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “You’ll have to show me a picture.”