“I can’t talk to her. Not right now.” I glance down at the red dress I have on, which coincidentally matches the dress on the cowgirl-shaped salt shaker on the table, who is paired with a cowboy in jeans, boots, and a pearl-snap shirt on the pepper.
I fucking love those salt and pepper shakers. I wonder if they’d sell them to me, or maybe they have a gift shop? Dolly of the salt is clearly Dolly from the big neon sign out front.
“Hi, Meryl, fancy seeing you here,” Monroe says, waving the woman and her husband over to our table.
Mortification blows through me like a blast furnace.Why, Monroe? Why?
Meryl and her husband, Johan, come toward us, and her lips tilt in a bemused smile. “Now, isn’t this an unexpected coincidence.”
Harlow takes one look at her. “Let me guess. Charity dinner and dancing. Dinner sucked and was barely edible, but you had a few too many glasses of wine and decided to live it up like you did before you had kids.”
Johan laughs and claps his hands. “You must be psychic.”
“Nope, Meryl still has her name tag on.”
Meryl looks down at the magnetic badge attached to her dress. “Dammit. I always forget to take them off.” She moves to undo it, but her husband beats her to it.
“That was my job. I shook too many hands trying to get us out of there instead. Sorry, baby.”
My heart melts at his endearment. They’ve been married almost fifteen years, and I think it’s adorable he still calls herbaby.
I want that. I want a partner like Johan, who will shake hands to get us out of a charity event so we can go eat breakfast at three a.m. at a greasy-spoon diner and relive the old days.
Meryl glances down at me. “I’m surprised to see you here, Scarlett. This doesn’t seem like it fits your image.”
It isn’t a taunt, but it feels like it could be.
“I’m looking for meaning.” I don’t know where the words come from, but as soon as they’re out, Meryl’s face softens.
“Good for you.”
“Our table is ready, honey,” Johan says before leading her away.
Meryl smiles at me before turning to follow him.
“What was that about?” Monroe asks. “Looking for meaning? You should’ve said looking for some dick.”
“Nothing,” I say, returning my attention to the plate in front of me. I only get one bite in before someone pulls up a chair and plops into it beside me.
My jaw drops. “Flynn?”
My former stepsister is wearing tight black pants, black leather boots, a tight black tank top, and black leather gloves with big star-shaped cutouts on the back of them, which is a far cry from the designer jeans and cute blouse she had on at the psychologist’s office.
“Whoa, girl. What the hell are you wearing?” Harlow’s gaze is locked on Flynn’s gloves. “Are you a stripper at a kinky club? Because if you are, I need to hear all about this.”
Flynn tosses her leather jacket on the back of the empty chair and reaches out to grab the tip of each finger to pull her gloves off. “I’m not a stripper. If I were, I’d still be at work.”
“Coyote Ugly?” Monroe asks as she steals a french fry off Kelsey’s plate. “I could see you getting up and singing on a bar while you do body shots.”
I stare at Flynn, concern welling inside me for what kind of trouble the twenty-year-old who is technically no longer my little sister could be getting into.
“I was working.”
“You have a job?”
She yanks her head back like I suggested something stupid. “No. I’m taking twenty-four credits as soon as the semester starts. I won’t have time for a job.”
“Then what the hell, Flynn?” A million scenarios burst to life in my head. “If you’re—” I cut myself off because I don’t even want to voice the possibilities in my head.