Enough.
Forcing her eyes open, she turned her attention to the present. A quick glance around the interior of the Carlisle farmhouse drew a frown. Farmhouse, of course, was Simone-speak for one of the most well-appointed homes in Tangleheart. Set on a one-hundred-acre spread of rolling green hills, the only crops this farm could boast were the pair of miniature donkeys Nate bought in order to legitimize his agriculture deduction and the stories he liked to spin of his simple, country life.
With no other guests in sight, and the table in the nook set for four—five if you counted the high chair—Anna knew she’d been had. And by her closest girlfriend no less. At least the house smelled like her favorite homemade cinnamon rolls. “Thanks for setting me up, Simone.”
“Oh, you’re welcome. Thanks for bringing the appetizer. I hate the way deviling the eggs stinks up the house.”
Another person might’ve interpreted Simone’s reply as wry humor, but she knew her friend better. There wasn’t a wry bone in Simone’s five-foot-nine, Pilates-toned, post-baby body. Simone was too distracted, rushing around, trying to make everything perfect, to take note of the chagrin in Anna’s voice. Giving it another whirl, Anna inclined her head toward the table set for four. “You said this was Charlie’s welcome home party.”
“It is.”
“Looks more like a welcome home trap to me.”
Tonight, Simone’s naturally pale skin appeared all but translucent against her flaming red hair, and her full lips were colorless beneath a sparkled gloss. An emerald-green silk tunic hung loosely over prominent collarbones and scary-skinny arms. “Like any good hostess, I consulted with Drex about the guest list.”
Anna touched her palm to her cheek and held in a sigh. Simone could’ve doubled for any of a number of pre-rehab celebrities. “And?”
“And you’re it.” Simone’s delicate fingers jangled a charm bracelet as she spoke. Glancing at her wrist, a sentimental smile played across her lips and then faded. “You don’t truly mind our little deception do you, Anna? I’d hate to think you’re cross with me.” Worry lines emerged around Simone’s bleary eyes.
Throwing her arms around her friend, she squeezed and noted again how thin Simone had become since Bobby was born. “Me cross? Not likely, considering you’ve got cinnamon rolls in the oven.”
“Smells like my wife’s keeping a secret.” Nate’s good-natured baritone bellowed down the hall, growing louder and closer with every sentence. “I only get baked goods when a very expensive bomb’s about to drop on me. You been to Neiman Marcus again, babe?”
Accompanied by the boisterous energy of an old friendship renewed, Nate and Charlie joined Anna and Simone in the open-style kitchen and family room. Although Nate was, in reality, a giant softy who adored his wife and indulged her every chance he got, he liked to toss around the clichés of an ornery, wears-the-pants husband when they were in public, because after all (as he’d once eloquently explained it to Anna), nobody wants to get his sorry ass kicked out of the man club.
In her opinion, Nate’s worries were unfounded. It seemed quite unlikely either big Nate, a six-foot-four tower of former linebacker muscle, or Charlie, the gifted quarterback who’d led the Titans to a state championship his senior year in high school, would ever be kicked out of the Tangleheart man club. In Tangleheart, if a guy could play football, it didn’t matter if his daddy was a rich SOB like Nate’s, or a poor SOB like Charlie’s. In Tangleheart, if a guy could play football, nobody cared about the rest of his résumé.
With a slight limp, a remnant of the blown-out knee that had ended his brief but glorious career in the pros, Nate crossed to his wife and lifted her hand to his lips. “You look beautiful tonight, babe.”
Charlie caught Anna’s glance. “You both look beautiful tonight,” he said, causing her to place her hand on her solar plexus.
Breathe, why don’t you, Anna?
With just the sound of his voice, Charlie had melted her into a warm, mushy puddle—she felt like the last remaining bit of wax giving up the ghost beneath a flickering candlewick. It wasn’t fair that after more than a decade, he could just show up out of nowhere and, with merely a twirl, a corny librarian joke, and a deep-voiced compliment, stir up all her old yearnings again.
It was like high school all over again.
Only it wasn’t.
Straightening her spine, she waited for her breathing to return to normal. She was no longer a lonely kid, and Charlie was no longer her older, wiser advisor. She no longer needed him to protect her, comfort her, or keep her secrets. She’d learned quite a while back to rely on herself and herself alone, and to put the truth about her mother out front and let the gossips do their worst.