Page 67 of If By Chance

I step out of her hold, averting my gaze to the floor to hide the blush. I don’t want to see more of the truth.

“What’s his story?”

“Widower. Single dad.”

She grimaces. “Shit. That’s rough. What age is he? He’s hard to judge.”

“Thirty-eight.” I swing my foot along the carpet.

“A little old for you then?” It’s more of a question.

I shrug.

I fucking shrug.

Like there’s even a possibility.

“I knew it,” she squeals.

“Shut up, Amy.”

“It makes sense with your daddy issues.”

“I don’t have daddy issues.”

She pops a hand on her hip, blinking at me. “You were engaged to a cop.”

I see where she’s going with this.

My father was also in the force.

Idohave daddy issues.

“You also have the same issues,” I remind her.

We always revert to arguing like children.

“Emotionally damaged are always the best in bed. With your combined emotional trauma, I bet you’d be fire together.”

Jesus, she’s relentless.

“Stop talking. You’ve got a credit card in your hand that I’m pretty sure doesn’t have a spending limit. Have fun.”

“Whatever, grumpy. I’ve got spare underwear in the back in case yours are wet.”

“Shut. Up.”

Needing to fidget, I run my fingers over the guitar strings before moving to the pianos lined against the wall.

“A music room?” she questions, eyeing me a little too closely. My chest deflates, grateful for the change of subject. “It’s a great idea. Thanks for coming here. I’m about to make more profit today than I have all month.”

Pressing the keys lightly, I notice the slight puffiness around her eyes. “Things aren’t bad here, are they?”

“No, things are good.”

“How’s Mama?” I’m pretty sure she’s the reason for my sister’s exhaustion.

I wish we could share it.