“Talking or Pilates?” I laughed.
“Both, bitch! Now, tell me about this sexy man and the dinner with your parents while I attempt to annoy the shit out of everyone in class.”
“Oh God, I should just leave now and save myself some money,” I huffed.
“Now, what fun would that be?”
We set up our mats on the floor and took our seats as we waited for the instructor to begin.
“Jackson is just…well—”
“He’s what?”
“Amazing.”
“Amazing?” she echoed.
“Yeah. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. It’s just that I don’t think I’ve ever heard you describe a member of the male species as amazing. You even said it in a dreamy tone. Usually, they’re hot or sexy or good in bed…but never amazing. Well, there was that one guy who was amazing—in bed. Is that what you meant? If so, ignore everything I just said and carry on.”
“I think my head just exploded,” I said, shaking it to make sure I was still in one piece.
Spending a day with Leah was sometimes very exhausting.
“Well, which one is it?”
“Amazing. He’s just amazing. I mean, he’s fantastic in bed—okay, better than fantastic. He deserves a blue ribbon for best lay, but he’s more than that.”
“Whoa, you’re gushing—over a guy.”
“I know.” I giggled.
“And you’re not even denying it! Was that a giggle?”
I just smiled.
“I want to meet this guy.”
“You have,” I pointed out.
“For a minute doesn’t count. Also, he didn’t have a shirt on. By the way, that was weird, considering he came from your house.”
I chose not to reply, and she just laughed.
“We should throw a dinner party. Clare has been dying to have one for ages.”
“Don’t we have dinner together all the time?”
The instructor, a perky young redhead, tried to gather everyone’s attention toward the front of the room.
Who knew this many women actually enjoyed waking up this early?
“Clare thinks a dinner party sounds fancy. She loves to watch HGTV when Maddie is at dance class. She is constantly calling me with crazy ideas about dinner parties and new festive holiday decorations. The other day, she blew up my phone all afternoon with ideas for Christmas. Seriously, Liv, it’s August.”
Cupping my hand over my mouth, I leaned over and whispered, “Could it have anything to do with all the baby hormones running rampant through her system?”
“Oh, definitely, but try to tell her no. Go ahead. I dare you.”
I held out my hands in defense just as we were instructed to lie on our backs for some core exercises.
“Oh, no, I’m not stupid. Dinner party it is.”
“Good,” she whispered. “And bring the next-door hottie.”
Jackson
When I was younger, my father had loved watching old TV shows. The Andy Griffith Show, Lassie, and My Three Sons were some of his favorites. He’d said it reminded him of a simpler time during his childhood—when life was easier and people were far less cryptic and cynical.
Long before I was old enough to think that hanging out with my father was lame, I’d sit and watch these black-and-white classics with him, thinking about how differently people treated each other in the television world.
But I’d soon realized that it wasn’t just in TV shows. It was a way of life that had begun to die out. The simpler generation my father had so loved where people would help each other just for the sheer satisfaction of doing so seemed to be slipping through our fingers just like the old shows he used to watch.
Back before the world was a blur of cell phones and crunching data, people had moved at a slower pace, seeing the world and everything around them. Helping your neighbor had been a daily occurrence. It hadn’t been a burden but just a natural a part of life.
The morning after the dinner with the Prescotts, I silently drove my son across town, passing the camp he regularly attended. Instead, we drove across town and pulled into the driveway of Noah’s new best friend.
As we hopped out of my truck, I took a moment to look around. There was a mailbox in front with the last name James neatly printed in gold script. That morning when we came here to pick up Noah after he’d spent the night, I had no idea I was walking into a movie stars house. Apparently, a wealthy father wasn’t the only interesting fact when it came to Olivia Prescott.
From the outside, it looked like a typical upperclass all-American family home—nothing outlandish or overdone. The lawn was a vibrant green and well kept. Pink and yellow flowers lined the walkway, and I couldn’t help but look down to see what color mulch was hidden underneath the deep green leaves. Of course, it was regular brown mulch.
I shook my head and chuckled under my breath as we approached the door.
“You okay, Dad?” Noah asked as he pressed the doorbell.
“Yeah. You sure this is okay?”
“You spoke with them last night,” he reminded me.