Adam slammed his hand on the table. “It’s perfect. It ticks all the boxes.”
“Except for the part where I marry Whitney Galloway!” I sat back in the booth, crossing my arms over my chest. “It’s fucking ridiculous.”
Skylar smirked. “You’re telling me, marrying Whitney hasn’t been your number one fantasy since you were twelve?”
My face felt hot. Must be all the booze. “Yeah, well, I’m not twelve anymore, am I? And things are different now. We’re different.”
I couldn’t ask Whitney to marry me. Even if it meant keeping Katie in Pennsylvania. There were lines I couldn’t cross. And that was one of them.
“Whatever happened between the two of you is ancient history—” Adam started to say.
“Who said anything happened between us?” I contested belligerently.
Meg, Adam, and Skylar all shared a look again. Clearly, I had been talked about when I wasn’t around.
“If Whitney is willing to help you out, why wouldn’t you do it? Especially if it means keeping your kid? It doesn’t have to be forever if it bothers you that much,” Skylar explained as if I were slow.
“This is freaking madness,” I muttered, my head starting to pound. I was overloaded. I wasn’t sure how much more I could take in without losing my shit.
“It’s not as crazy as it sounds actually,” Meg said, looking all serene and wise.
“Just think about it. We can talk about it more tomorrow,” Adam jumped in. Then he was ordering us more drinks. “Enough about all this tonight. I think we need to drink some more.”
“There’s nothing more to talk about, Decate. I’m not asking Whitney to marry me.” Even as I said it, something in my chest constricted.
I had promised myself I’d do whatever it took to keep Katie with me.
Did that include this?
I downed two more shots, thankful when I could stop thinking for a while.
Chapter 8
Whitney
I didn’t recognize the number calling me. I was tempted not to answer and let it go to voicemail, thinking it must be someone from the studio. Maybe one of Roger’s underlings trying to talk me into working on his new movie.
But then I saw the area code. It was local.
Curiosity had me answering.
“Hey Whit, it’s Kyle Webber,” his deep voice rumbled in my ear.
As if he had to add his last name. I only knew one Kyle, and I would know his voice anywhere.
“Hey, Kyle,” I said, trying to hide how surprised I was to hear from him. “Uh, how are you?” I glanced out the window that looked across the street where his team was working on the square. They were just about finished, and it looked amazing. The set up for the Apple Blossom Carnival was due to begin early next week. Marla Delacroix had already started plastering the town with flyers.
“Fine. Hot, I guess. I love the heat, but it’s too early for it to be this warm.” He laughed, but it sounded strained.
“Definitely,” I responded lamely. This was weird. Why was he calling me? I tried to find him with his crew but he was noticeably absent. “I don’t see you out there.” Oh, God, I was doing it again. Sounding ridiculous. And slightly stalkerish.
There was that strange tight laughter again. “I took the rest of the day off. I was feeling a bit rough. I went out earlier in the week with the gang and drank way too much. I’m still recovering, which is more than a little sad.”
“So that’s why Adam called in sick the other day,” I surmised.
“Yeah, he was the worst of all of us. I ended up crashing at his house. I’m too old for that crap, apparently, considering I’m struggling days later.” This time his laughter was less tense.
“I could have told you that,” I joked, glad that this time I didn’t sound so stupid.
“Yeah, so why I’m calling …”
I waited. I tapped my foot on the floor impatiently. “Yes?” I prompted when Kyle still hadn’t said anything.
“Can I take you out to dinner tonight? I have something I’d like to run past you,” he said in a rush.
“You’re asking me out to dinner?” I repeated, not sure I heard him correctly.
“Yes, I am. Like I said, there’s something I’d like to talk to you about.” There was a note of apprehension in his voice that made me a little edgy, but at the same time, I felt the stirrings of excitement I hadn’t experienced in a long, long time.
“Sure. Sounds good. When were you thinking?” I tried to sound blasé. Not like my