The Truth

She dodges me, laughing wildly, but I catch her a few steps later. I grab her around the waist, picking her up and spinning her in the low water. “I should throw you in,” I threaten.

“No!” she shrieks, squirming in my arms.

“Are you going to splash me again?” I ask darkly.

“Maybe . . .” she drawls out. I bend down an inch, getting her that much closer to the waves, and she corrects herself. “No! I won’t. I promise.”

Slowly, I lower her feet to the sand and hold up my hands to offer a peace treaty.

Her grin is brilliant, mirroring my own. “That was fun,” I say at the same time I realize it. I’m not sure when I last had fun.

Tiffany pats my chest. “You have no idea how much fun I can be.”

“What do you do for fun?” I ask, not sure if I want the answer. Based on some of the things I know about what she and Elle used to get up to, she might say she rock climbs without safety gear, hops on a plane with no idea of its destination, or something I don’t even know exists, like swimming with electric eels. Is that a thing people do?

Tiffany looks down, almost seeming shy suddenly. “Don’t laugh, okay?”

My interest is infinitely piqued. “I promise to try not to laugh, but I’m nervous you’re about to tell me you crochet cock covers that look like giraffes.”

Her bark of laughter explodes, surprising us both.

“No, definitely not. Although that sounds like something worth researching.”

I take her hand, and we start walking, that simple gesture meaning so much because it’s easy and comfortable.

After a moment, she says, “I create capsule wardrobes online. It started with pinning outfits on Pinterest, but it quickly reinvented my approach to clothes. I posted my own outfit pictures, and people started following me. Eventually, I started doing seasonal collections, for myself and for other people. I basically shop through websites to discover the best items and then mix and match them up so people don’t waste their money on a bunch of junk and still have nothing to wear.”

I blink. “That is not what I thought you were going to say, but I guess that makes sense. I mean, I have black, blue, and gray suits and shirts in a handful of colors. I can throw any of it on and be good to go.”

“Guys have it so easy,” she faux-whines with an eye roll.

We walk along, carefree and relaxed, with no agenda, just swapping bits of information about each other that we don’t already know . . .

Like her favorite dessert, Thai mango sticky rice, and mine, green grapes tossed in lime-watermelon Jell-O powder. She makes a horrified face at that, not because it sounds gross but because even my treats are fruit, something she deems unacceptable as she vows to discover something completely unhealthy that I enjoy.

And her current Netflix binge watches. I had to hold my tongue when she told me she’s still trying to watch the rest of Squid Game, but she has to do the same with me and Money Heist.

“I don’t watch much TV, mostly a bit of football when I’m on the recumbent bike.”

“Recumbent bike?” she asks.

I huff but smile. “Long story, but basically, I had a cyst in my ankle that was putting pressure on a nerve and had a quickie outpatient procedure for it. Billy heard ‘surgery’, and bam, he forbade me from running or doing weights. The recumbent was a compromise.”

“But your ankle’s fine now, right? I mean, you run all the time.”

“One hundred percent recovery, but—and don’t you dare tell Billy this—I fell in love with that damn bike. I don’t ride often because it’s my relaxation treat—TV with a side of cycling.”

“Grapes as dessert, and a bike as relaxation. I’m not sure you know the definition of the word ‘treat’, Daniel.”

She’s insightful, and I shrug, not disagreeing with her. “Maybe. At least it’s a good way to yell out my frustration at Jacksonville.”

“Jacksonville?” Tiffany asks. “The city or the team?”

She’s teasing, but I answer her anyway. “The team. I’ve got a college classmate who works in their front office,” I explain. “Smart people, but still can’t seem to get a team that can win it. But Jeremy and I like to give each other a hard time about things, football and business, mostly . . .”

My voice drops off, and I come to a stop, blinking. Tiffany slows and turns to me, her eyes worried. “What is it?”

“I just . . . I remembered how Jeremy and I first met,” I tell her. “We were at a party when we both saw the same blonde girl. He danced with her first, but she left the party with me. That Monday, he tried to give me shit about it, but I joked that it was his ‘stellar’ dance moves that sent her straight into my arms. Before long, we were both laughing, and any argument was done with. Anyway . . . he was one of my groomsmen when I married that girl. She was Elle’s mother.”