Everyone laughs, but Katelyn is nearly bolting for the door as she shoves her makeup into her purse. “Anybody riding home with me had better get in the truck. Mark’s waiting on me.”
“It’s fine. Hurry home like a good wifey,” Shayanne teases her, her laughter growing at Katelyn’s whirlwind exit. To me, she rolls her eyes. “You get used to them.”
Confused, I ask, “What do you mean?”
The grins tell me there’s a lot more to this story. “Well, some folks think Mark is bossy. And that’s true for sure, but it’s definitely something she enjoys. She sent that picture on purpose because she knows how to push his buttons just right.”
“Oh.” I have no response, my brain blank. After a second . . . “Oh!”
The women laugh, and shortly thereafter, we wrap up the evening.
“I’ll go through the images and send them to you. Tonight was . . . fun.”
It’s the lamest description, but it’s all I can come up with because I truly had a good time tonight with them. I felt accepted, welcomed, a part of something bigger than myself.
And it did keep me distracted for the evening from the one thing I thought I’d be thinking about nonstop . . . how Bobby’s meeting is going.
I consider sending him a text, maybe a sexy selfie like Katelyn did, and even go so far as to pick up my phone. But instead of opening the camera, I open my photo files and find that the last two shots are of me sleeping blissfully. Bobby must’ve taken these, I realize with a smile. I look . . . happy, worn out from our lovemaking, and smiling even in sleep.
I flip through my last several shots, finding several of Bobby—him on stage, him driving his truck and singing with the radio, him against a backdrop of green trees.
After a few minutes, I do open my camera and take a close-up, off-centered shot of my smile.
Click.
I post it to my blog with a caption that reads, Happy. I found home.
I fall asleep before the first heart or comment comes in.
Chapter 19
Willow
“He’s going to be here any minute. Get that table set, boys.” Mama Louise’s instructions are nothing to argue with, and Mark and Luke hustle a little faster around the table with the glasses and silverware.
“The sign’s crooked on the right. Cooper?” I’m not sure how she expects the little boy to fix the sign that’s hanging three feet above his head, but like the rest of the guys, he’s on it. He pushes a stool over, climbs up, and makes the needed adjustments.
“Better?” he asks, looking for approval.
Mama Louise looks over her shoulder. “Perfect. Good job problem solving.” I see her smile as she returns to her cooking.
She’s amazing, in charge of everything and everyone without breaking a sweat. She’s sweet and kind, warm and welcoming, but I get the sense that she’d beat you at your own game if you tried to pull one over on her.
“What can I do to help?” I ask, having finished my assigned job of slathering butter on the biscuit tops and sliding them into the pre-heated oven.
Mama Louise scans the room, looking for something, and gives me a new job. “Stand over here by me and help me with this chicken. This bowl is the egg wash.”
I listen to her intently, not wanting to get a single thing wrong. After several minutes, I realize that everyone else is watching her closely too.
The guys are hiding small smiles and the girls aren’t bothering, smiling widely as they continue setting serving platters on the table. Sophie and Katelyn look on the verge of happy tears.
They must really love Mama Louise’s fried chicken.
Shayanne calls out, “Say cheese!” and before I can react, she takes several pictures of Mama Louise and me, floury hands and all. “Perfect!” Coming closer and proving she knows me better than I’d think, she gets right up on our hands and takes a close-up shot too. “And one for the blog. Caption, bwak-kwak-kwak. I’m delicious.”
“Uh, that’s my phone. How’d you unlock it?”
She looks at the phone in her hand like she has no idea how it got there before giving me a smirk. “I got skills, girl.” She shrugs it off, and I don’t bother asking again because she won’t tell me, anyway.
“Do those skills involve finishing up the lemon meringue pie?” Mama Louise muses.
Chastised, Shayanne sets my phone on the counter and grabs a lemon out of a bowl.