Page 94 of Where We Stay

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“Well, fucking finally,” Georgie says from my back porch. “I love you, babe, but even I was getting bored of the staring.”

She came over to help with the garden. Apparently, that means wrapping herself in one of my blankets and drinking tea while she watches me work.

“Oh, shut up.” I spread another layer of mulch over the bed I’ve cleared for spring. “He has a daughter. It’s not exactly practical for us to start jumping each other’s bones.”

The sunflower seeds will have to stay safely inside until the weather warms up, but the small gold pendant resting against my chest is doing a pretty good job of keeping them on my mind.

“Have you thought about what it would mean if this actually goes somewhere?” G asks, her teasing expression softening.

I don’t hate her for asking. It’s a completely reasonable question.

I hate myself for not knowing how to answer it.

“Of course I have.” I sit back on my heels and brush the dirt from my gloves. “But we haven’t exactly had a conversation about any of this. I don’t know what he wants.”

“Look, all I’m going to say is that I’ve known Dean a long time. Before Courtney, during Courtney and after Courtney.” G sets down her mug. “Aspen is the light of that man’s life, and when Courtney left, it damn near broke him. But I have never—and I mean never—seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you.”

Her words do strange things to my stomach.

Courtney.

Until two minutes ago, I didn’t even know her name.

I know Dean is a single dad. I know Aspen’s mom isn’t around much. But I don’t know what happened between them or what Dean wants from me.

Hell, I don’t even know what I want from him beyond wanting him to kiss me until I forget my own name.

Which probably isn’t the solid foundation I should be aiming for.

I just can’t stop thinking about that fucking kiss.

By the time the sun begins to set, G has contributed absolutely nothing to the garden besides unwanted commentary. We abandon the yard, order enough pizza to feed a small family and settle onto the couch to watch trashy reality TV.

Honestly? I live for this shit.

I used to watch it alone, but screaming at strangers through the television is much more fun with a friend.

My phone chimes beside me.

MR. ASHFORD: Dinner with me Friday.

Changing his name in my phone felt necessary after last night.

ME: Is that a question?

The typing Pennyble appears almost immediately.

MR. ASHFORD: Fine. Will you have dinner with me Friday?

ME: Where?

MR. ASHFORD: Salt & Oak.

ME: Is this an actual date, Mr. Ashford?

MR. ASHFORD: Yes, Miss Morgan. Try to keep up.