phone buzzed, and Claire saw Livvy Larimer’s name on the screen. Her best friend and co-owner of their business, Dearly Beloved.
“Well?” Livvy started.
No greeting. Which meant she expected Claire to dish up something exciting. And the dishing up that Livvy wanted was about Riley. Best just to give her a summary and hope it didn’t lead to too many other questions.
“Riley finally made it home day before yesterday after his flight was delayed. I fixed him breakfast, and I came back to Gran’s to get some work done on the Herrington-Anderson engagement photos.” An engagement that Livvy knew all about because she was the wedding planner for the event.
“That’s it?” Livvy asked.
Here come the questions. But Claire made Livvy work for the answers. “What else were you expecting?”
“Fudging details. Specifically, fudging you did with Riley.”
Fudging was the compromise they’d worked out instead of using the F word, one of Livvy’s many favorites. They also used sugar for shit and bubble gum for blow job, something that came up surprisingly often in her conversations with Livvy.
They were still working on one for asshole.
Ethan’s little ears picked up on anything Claire didn’t want him to hear while selectively shutting out van Gogh, and since Livvy cursed like a meth dealer in an R-rated movie, they’d resorted to acceptable substitutions.
“No fudging,” Claire explained. She was finally able to keep a straight face when she said it. “I only fixed Riley breakfast and ran interference from some unwanted visitors.”
Livvy made a yeah-right sound. “And you’ve fawned over him for the past decade.”
“Fawned over? What the heck does that even mean? Is that a new compromise word?”
“Yes, it means you dream of fudging and bubblegumming Riley.”
Claire huffed. “Does any woman actually dream of bubblegumming a man? I don’t. It’s more of something that just sort of evolves during foreplay.”
“Foreplay,” Ethan said with perfect clarity. Great, they needed a compromise word for that now.
“Sugar yeah, you dreamed of fudging him,” Livvy went on. “You pointed out his pictures in your high school yearbook. You’ve talked about him. And then there’s Ethan—”
“Riley and I were friends in high school. Friends,” Claire emphasized.
“You can fawn over friends. And fudge them, too. I’ve seen pictures of Riley, and he’d make a great fudge.”
“Riley has never fudged me.” Claire paused. “He’s hurt, Livvy.”
That reminder flicked away the annoyance she was feeling about Livvy’s interrogation. But Claire replaced the flicked-away emotion with one she’d been trying to keep out of her head.
Worry.
“Is it bad?” Livvy asked.
“Maybe.” Probably, Claire silently amended.
“God, I just can’t imagine doing what he does. Ever googled Combat Rescue Officer and looked at some of those pictures?”
Once. It had been enough.
Livvy made a shuddering sound. “And to think, he’s been doing that job for a long time.”
Nine years. Since he graduated from college and joined the Air Force. Riley had been on six deployments, and even though Claire didn’t know the exact locations, she was betting there’d been plenty of other times when he could have been wounded or killed.
Ethan grumbled something, clearly not pleased about his car-bashing game. Claire glanced over to make sure all was well. It wasn’t. One of the cars had broken. Again. Thank heavens it wasn’t one of his favorites so his reaction was mild. The Terrible Twos wasn’t just a cliché when it came to her baby boy. He often aimed high to live up to that particular label.
She needed to find a toddler genius kit to help her with that.
“You think Riley’s got PTSD or something?” Livvy went on.
This was even less comfortable than the fudge question. “If he does, I’m sure there’s help for that at the base in San Antonio. From what he told his sister, he’ll be starting physical therapy there soon.”
The military would patch him up, both physically and mentally if needed, and Riley would go right back out there on deployment again. To someplace dangerous. Because that’s what he did. What he’d always wanted since middle school.
“You haven’t asked me about the hot date,” Livvy said a moment later.
“Date-date, or are we talking fruit now?” And Claire was serious. Livvy had a thing for trying new foods and men. Lots of men. She had been married three times and was always on the lookout for ex number four. Thankfully, she didn’t live in Spring Hill or she would have single-handedly skewed their divorce stats.
“Date-date. You know, the guy I met from the dating site. I told you, didn’t I?”
“I don’t think so.” She’d been living vicariously—sexually anyway—through Livvy since having Ethan. “How’d it go?”
“Sugar hot,” Livvy declared. “His name is Alejandro just like the Lady Gaga song. He’s an albino drummer in a heavy metal band.” She giggled like a schoolgirl. “I predict lots of fudging in my future.”
Since Livvy seemed excited about his name/career/pigment/fudging combo, Claire was happy for her. Or rather cautiously optimistic. “Is he nice?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t go out with a grouchy asshole again. Sorry, we’ll work on that word. Anyway, other than his pinkeye, he’s perfect.”
“Uh, I don’t know a lot about albinos, but I think pink eyes are normal for them.”
“Not pink eyes,” Livvy quickly corrected. “Pinkeye. He’s using drops for it, though, so it should clear up soon. You really should use this dating site, Claire. It’s the best one yet.”
She’d rather have pinkeye. “I’m on hiatus from dating. Until I get Ethan potty trained.” Of course, there was no correlation. None. But thankfully it was an argument that always worked with Livvy.
“So, making any progress getting the house ready to sell?” Livvy asked.
Claire wanted to say a hallelujah for the change of topic. “Some. Gran wasn’t a hoarder exactly, but she didn’t throw away much. I’ll keep at it until a new job comes in.”
“Already got two. Wedding announcement photos. I’ll email you the dates and details.”
There were clearly more procrastination possibilities on the horizon. It was probably depression over Gran’s death, but Claire felt stuck in Neutral.
“Oh,
