that kid, but sweet lord have mercy, she scares the crap out of me.
“What’s that look for?” Bree steps out of the house and hands me a warm mug.
“I’ve changed my mind. There’s something really disturbing about your child.”
She blows on her coffee. “She’s just going through a phase.”
Is demon possession a phase?
“So.” Bree regards me, as if revving up for a scolding. “You don’t think you’re involved with this man?”
“I didn’t say that. I’m just not going to pursue a relationship with him.”
“Why not?”
“He doesn’t want one, not with anyone. Least of all with me.” My stomach hardens. “He sleeps around—
“You don’t know that.”
“I see him with women, Bree. And he said he never spends a night alone.”
“He told you that…like three months ago.” She props an elbow on the back of the loveseat, her sharp gray eyes looking straight through mine. “I think he’s waiting for you.”
“That’s ridiculous. Waiting for what?”
Her gaze drops to my engagement ring, and her voice softens. “For you to get over Cole.”
My throat goes dry, and I twist the band on my finger. “It’s been on my right hand since I met Trace.”
“Okay. But can you take it off?” She gives me a small, encouraging smile. “From what you’ve said, it seems to bother him.”
Without letting myself think about it, I work the ring off my finger and slip it into the pocket of my jeans. “There’s your answer.”
My heart thunders painfully, but after a few measured breaths, all is quiet.
“How are we doing?” She rests a hand on my forearm.
I resent the concern in her eyes. It reminds me of that godawful part of my life, the months that followed Cole’s funeral, when she repeatedly dug me out of the alcohol-induced abyss I numbed myself in. Which is why I’m also so fucking thankful for her. Every damn day.
“I’m good, Bree. But I think you’re off-base about Trace. He’s not waiting for anything. I mean, it’s not like he’s competing for my attention. Cole’s dead, and I’m here, single and available.”
“You’re single. But you’re not available.”
“That makes no sense.”
She eyes the mug of coffee in my hand. “Hold out your cup.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.” She guides my fingers to the handle and adjusts the position of the mug over a patch of grass. “Imagine that the cup is you, and the coffee is all your love for Cole.”
The mug is full, sloshing over the sides as I hold it in place. “This is stupid.”
“Shut up and pay attention.” She stands over me and lifts her mug, which is equally full. “My cup represents Trace, and all the love he wants to give you.”
I snort. “As if.”
She ignores me and proceeds to pour her coffee into mine. As it flows over the sides and into the grass, she continues pouring, her expression taut with concentration.
“You just wasted all that coffee,” I say. “Maybe you should stick with teaching first graders.”
“I swear, Danielle.” She fists her hands on her hips, the empty mug dangling from her fingers. “Sometimes you’re denser than a first grader.”
“I’m not dense, Gabrielle. I get it. My cup runneth over because it’s half-full of shit.” I grin, knowing full well that’s not what she’s insinuating. “I need a bigger cup.”
“Wrong.” She plops down beside me. “I was trying to demonstrate an old Chinese Zen saying. You can’t fit Trace’s love into the love you already possess. It’s supposed to ask the question…” She meets my eyes. “Do you have the right cup full?”
“Apparently, I don’t.” With a sigh, I stare at the mug. “So I empty my cup.”
“Empty the cup,” she echoes.
“But it’s also filled with my love for you and the demon—”
“Don’t call her that.”
“The angel and mom and dad—”
“Nope. That’s a different cup. This is the man cup.”
For the love of God. My head hurts. “What if I’m in a polyamorous relationship?”
“Do you want that?”
“Well, no.” I can’t even hold onto one man. “But—”
“Empty the damn cup.”
I do it to make her happy, dumping delicious java all over the grass.
Emptying the metaphorical cup, however, will be much harder than flicking my wrist.
“I’ll go get us more coffee.” I stand, needing a moment to regroup.
“Danni,” David calls from beneath the car. “Come here.”
“I’ll get the coffee.” Bree takes my mug.
“What’s the verdict?” I step beside his supine position on the ground.
Clothed in athletic gear, he’s recently acquired a dad bod, with the requisite extra around the middle. But he’s still a good-looking guy, especially for a high-school math teacher and