Come Home to Me

Absolutely nothing.

I won’t talk to you about her.

He was adamant that she and Dylan mind their own business.

I promise.

Why are you being so secretive?

You’ll understand once I’ve had the chance to explain. I’m nervous about this. I’m only doing it because I trust you. Next to Dylan and Presley, I trust you most in the world.

Now she was making him nervous. What could it be?

He came up with a few alternatives, but didn’t like any of them. Especially the ones that had to do with catastrophic illnesses. Did she have cancer?

Maybe she’d received bad news from her doctor and couldn’t tell Dylan....

What time? he texted.

Dylan’s planning to work on the deck he’s building in back. He should be well into it by three. Will that work?

That’s fine. Meet you at JB’s.

I’ll text you if anything changes.

Sounds good.

Thanks, Aaron. I really appreciate it.

He had to try to clarify one last time.

And this has nothing to do with Presley? You’re not going to warn me off?

Didn’t Dylan already do that?

He tried.

This has nothing to do with her. But let me point out that you don’t really want Pres, or we wouldn’t say a word.

He sat staring at her last line for probably fifteen minutes. How did she know that when even he wasn’t sure?

7

JB’s was a traditional steakhouse with branding implements on the wood-plank walls and a bar along the right side. The interior was darker than the average restaurant, particularly in contrast to such a bright, sunny afternoon, and the candles sitting on the tables did little to offset that.

Aaron stood at the entrance for a second so his eyes could adjust. Then he spotted Cheyenne in a corner booth, looking like she was about to step in front of a firing squad. Her agitation heightened his own anxiety as the hostess hurried over from where she’d been rolling silverware into napkins. This was between meals—not a busy time of day, even on a Sunday.

“Would you like a table?” she asked.

He pointed at Cheyenne. “My party’s been seated.”

She waved him past her. “She said she was expecting someone. I left a menu for you.”

With a quick thanks, he strode across the restaurant and took the seat opposite Cheyenne, who offered him a fleeting smile. “Thanks for coming.”

“No problem,” he said.

She slid his menu toward him. “Would you like to order first?”