The windows are dark so I can’t see inside, but as soon as the truck comes to a stop, the driver's door flings open and then she jumps out.
“Wess!” she calls, and I have only a split second to process that this is Shelly before she’s jumping into my arms.
Holy. Shit.
I wasn’t prepared for this. In my mind Shelly was a sixty-year-old woman who was maybe an ex-biker chick. I pictured her with a pack of cigarettes rolled up in one sleeve and a voice like a long-haul trucker. I thought she’d have grandkids and tell me stories about “Back in my day…”
There was nothing in my mind that’s even remotely like the Shelly O’Neal in front of me.
“I can’t believe we’re finally meeting after all this time.” She leans back to look at me, and I can hardly breathe.
Her jet-black hair is piled high in a messy bun, and she’s got on a ripped white tank top with cut-off jean shorts and combat boots. Her tattoos cover most of her limbs, and she’s got her lip pierced. She’s probably not old enough to drink, and suddenly I’m worried she’s a lot younger than I anticipated.
“How old are you?” My eyebrows pull together, and she bursts out laughing.
“I’m twenty-six.” She shakes her head as she walks over to the truck and grabs her bag. “I know I like to keep a low profile on social media so I forgot you haven’t seen me before. I looked you up after the first time we talked so I knew you looked like Carey Hart.” I open my mouth to say something, but she’s just bubbling with excitement and talks over all my thoughts. “I really can’t thank you enough for the invite to stay with you. Gosh, it’s been so long since I’ve gotten out of the city, and already I can feel my lungs being repaired by the fresh air. Do you guys have a diner around here? I haven’t had a good meat and three in as many years.”
“Um yeah,” I mumble as she grabs her bag and walks past me.
“Oh my god, this place is gorgeous. This is yours, right?”
“Uh, yeah.” Jesus, can I possibly sound dumber?
She looks over her shoulder at me, and the smile she gives me is secretive, like she can read my thoughts. “Come on and show me around.”
“Yeah.” I press my lips together, and when she smiles it’s all teeth and dimples.
Fuck me, I was not prepared for her to knock me on my ass. My manners finally catch up with me, and I grab her bag so I can carry it for her. “Here, let me get that.”
“Thanks, Wess.” The way she says my name is like a kid on Christmas morning.
“This is the kitchen, obviously. I stocked the fridge with some of your favorites.”
“Are you serious? That was so sweet.” She goes over and opens the refrigerator and then beams back at me. “You remembered the pickles.”
“How could I forget about something so weird?”
“Once you have them with peanut butter you won’t eat them any other way.”
“I’ll take your word for that.” Some of my muscles are relaxing, but there’s one between my legs that is only getting harder.
“Did you get these too?” She goes over to the dining table and checks out all the board games. It feels silly now, but when she said she liked them I got excited because I do too.
“Yeah, it was no trouble. I had them at my house and just brought them over.” Why am I second-guessing everything?
Probably because I was expecting Dame Judi Dench, and instead I got Mila fucking Kunis. She walks around the table and then over to the living room and points to the stairs.
“Bedroom?” she asks, and I nod.
I point out the hall bath and guest rooms as we go, and then the master. Thankfully it has an attached bath that’s been redone. My old room was in the loft that’s now been converted into a playroom.
“You used to live here?” she asks as I place her duffel bag on the bed.
“Yeah, when I was a kid. This was my grandmother's house.”
“That’s the one you came back to take care of, right?”
I nod. Sometimes I forget how much of myself I’ve already shared with her. “Yeah, I bought the house next door because it was a better layout for her. She uses a cane, so I made sure she has a first-floor bedroom with an easily accessible bath.”
“That’s so sweet.” Her words are genuine, and it makes my chest tingle.
Seeing her in this bedroom makes it feel hotter. I should check to make sure the air is working. Maybe it has nothing to do with that and everything to do with the woman that I’d put in the friend box tearing her way through it. For so long I didn’t see her like this and now I’m rethinking every email we’ve ever shared. She hasn’t changed, but suddenly I’m seeing it all so differently.