Tumble (Dogwood Lane 1)

Quite frankly, I love Neely. I always have. I probably always will, and that really sucks.

Dropping my fork, I start to get up when Haley sighs.

“Why do I always get my heart broken?” she asks.

My butt hits the chair again. I take in her forlorn face, the slight frown on her lips, and the way her forehead wrinkles. “This isn’t a broken heart, Hay. It’s just disappointment. You’ll survive.”

“How can you tell me if my heart is broken or not? Asshole.”

“You came to this asshole for advice. Just pointing that out.”

She puts her head in her hands. “You’re all I got, okay? If there was another option, trust me, I’d go to them.”

“Gee, thanks.”

I lift my fork and take another bite. The sauce is just fine, despite the way Haley licks at it before taking the smallest bites known to man. Reaching for my glass, I notice the way tears are welling up in the corners of her eyes.

Why do I have to care?

“Fine,” I say, putting my glass back on the table. “Coming from someone who has seen you with a broken heart, this is not one. Okay?”

“Who do you think broke mine?”

“The hippie. You really liked him, I think. I don’t know why you did, but you did.” I shrug. “Watching you tonight, I’d venture to say you’ll have moved on in a week. Back happily in love with some other unsuspecting soul.”

She loads her fork with spaghetti and pretends to launch it across the table. “I should shoot this at your face for being a jerk.”

“How am I a jerk?” I laugh. “I just call it like I see it, and you are ‘in love’ with someone new every two months. I don’t even try to learn their names anymore. It’s pointless.”

She sits back in her seat and sighs. “Enough about me. What did you do today? You’re more chipper than usual.”

“I did have an eventful evening.” That damn smile that I wore on the ride home, while Mia and I pulled weeds out front, and then while I made dinner comes back. Haley doesn’t miss a beat.

She leans forward, resting her chin on her hands. “I’m waiting.”

There’s no doubt this is going to backfire. If I tell Miss Romantic here that I spent time with Neely, she’ll be planning our wedding before the spaghetti gets cold. I should make up some story and play it off, but for some reason I don’t understand, I want to tell her. I want to tell someone.

I brace myself for her reaction. “Neely went with Mia and me to Dad’s.”

Haley gasps. Her hands hit the table so hard the plates rattle. “You’re joking. Dane! This is amazing.”

“This is not amazing.” I scoff despite the grin plastered on my lips. “But it was nice, and Mia enjoyed it, I think.”

“And you,” she says, poking a finger my way. “You enjoyed it. I know you did, so don’t even try to lie to me.”

“Very funny.”

She wads up the napkin from her lap and places it next to her plate. “You know, ever since I found that picture of the two of you in your closet, I had a feeling this would come full circle.”

“Slow down,” I warn. “First of all, that picture was of me, her, Matt, and Claire. Second of all—”

“Her head was on your shoulder.”

“And Claire’s hand was on my ass. You just couldn’t see it,” I lie. “Second of all, she’s just visiting her mom. She’ll be back in New York by the end of the week.”

“You must think there’s the potential for something there.”

I shake my head. “I don’t. There is no potential for anything.”

“I’m going out on a limb and saying that’s a lie.”

I pick up my bowl and glass and flip her a warning look. Heading to the sink, I try to put some space between us, but it doesn’t work. Like a puppy that doesn’t get it, she follows on my heels. The way I swing the dishwasher open doesn’t dissuade her either.

“This is none of my business,” she starts, “but let me just point out that this is the first woman you’ve brought around since Sara.”

I don’t turn around. I rinse my plate and empty the remaining water from the glass and shove them in the dishwasher.

“That has to mean something.” Her voice is soft, and something about the way she says those words hits me. “You’ve never really talked about her before, but I’ve always gotten the impression she was special to you.”

Taking a deep breath, I turn around and lean against the counter. My stomach is a pit of acid, churning violently as I look at my friend. Talking about Neely, saying things out loud, is something I’ve avoided for the most part for a very long time. It makes me uncomfortable. It feels like a guard has been taken down and I’m exposed. Yet the longer I stand there exposed to Haley’s insights, the more comfortable it becomes.