Always the Last to Know by Kristan Higgins Page 0,86
“I don’t. I mean . . . I just think it’s weird to try to fix up your daughter’s ex-boyfriend with his ex-fiancée.”
Caro popped her head in. “Need help, Barb? Hi, Sadie, sweetheart.”
“Hi, Caro. You look beautiful, as always.”
“I know, and thank you, angel. Barb, what can I do?”
“We’ll be eating in a few minutes, so if you could start herding everyone in here, that’d be great.”
Caro flashed her dimples at me and popped back out.
“So. You won’t try to push Gillian and Noah together,” I said, just to be clear.
“Whatever happens with them happens, Sadie. She does a lot of events in town and she knows everyone. Maybe she can help you find a job while you’re here, who knows? You could run errands for her.”
Nice. “I have a job,” I said.
“Is that right.”
“I paint.”
“Of course. Now, would you mind getting your father so we can eat?” She went back into the family room, all smiles for everyone but me.
It would be nice to like my mother as much as other people did. Then again, they didn’t get the side of her I did—the slightly irritated, impatient, better-things-to-do mother who already had a perfect daughter and couldn’t be bothered with me. She had a knack for peeing on everything I liked or did in ways both subtle and obvious and then wondered why I didn’t seek her out the way Juliet did. It was exhausting.
I took a deep breath and went back to the dining room. I bet my dad missed being in a proper bedroom. Pepper was still curled at his side, looking like a giant cinnamon bun, snoring gently. My father’s eyes were open. “Hey, Dad,” I said. “Mom’s driving me crazy, but what else is new, right?”
He glanced at me, looking blank, and my eyes filled. “It’s me, Dad. Sadie. You know who I am, right?”
I thought his expression softened a little. “Of course you do. I’m your daughter, and I love you.” Pepper’s tail wagged, beating on the bed. “And my little doggy loves you, too. Right, Pepper?”
“Do you need help?”
Noah. I wiped my eyes before turning. “Sure. Thanks.” He came closer, and his hair was extra curly. Must’ve just washed it. Not that I was thinking about Noah in the shower or anything. I cleared my throat. “Hey, I’m sorry my mom invited your . . . um, Gillian.”
“Why?”
“Because it might be awkward for you.”
“It’s not. She’s a good person.” There was already an edge in his voice.
“I’m sure she is.”
“Is it awkward for you?”
“Of course not! Why would it be? I’m great! How’s the baby, by the way? And Mickey’s still nursing? Is it going well?”
He gave me a pained look. “Why don’t you ask her?”
“I will do so.” Blathering like an idiot yet again, and over my father’s balding head. “Come on, Dad. Time for dinner.” Noah took one of his arms, and I took the other.
“Whose dog is this?” Noah asked.
“Mine. Pepper, meet Noah. Noah, this is my puppy, Pepper.”
She licked his face, and he laughed.
Oh, that laugh. That sooty, low scraping laugh. A hundred memories of Noah laughing flashed through my head—hearing it in high school, turning to see him smiling at me, the two of us walking to get coffee, his big, strong hand holding mine, or best of all, in bed, his skin warm against mine, that soft, tangled black hair framing his face.
Yep.
Pepper was going to town on him, lucky thing, and he picked her up and set her on the floor. “Okay, Mr. Frost, one, two, three. There you go.”
Together, we helped Dad get his walker and come into the kitchen.
It was really, really unfortunate that my boyfriend was stuck in traffic. I could use an ally to fight these memories before I fell in love with Noah Pelletier all over again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Juliet
Juliet Frost had seduction on her mind, which was hard enough since she was in her mother’s house with her brain-damaged father, her yappy sister and about six other people.
But sex with Oliver was on her list of things to do tonight, and she owed him some sparkly time. She sipped the wine she’d brought and smiled hard.
Knowing that her father had had an affair had shaken her to the roots. That her father—her father, that steadiest of men, married for fifty years—could have an affair made her feel that every second Oliver was not in view, he, too, could be screwing some other woman, or thinking about it, or flirting or looking or