“So, where were you just then?” he asked with a huge grin as she climbed up into the seat and fumbled with the seatbelt, only to have him help her click it into place.
Lace could feel color moving up into her cheeks, which, all things considered,hadto be better than the pale visage she’d been sporting.
“I was, um, actually imagining your house as the inside of a circus tent,” she allowed sheepishly. There was no way she was going to mention the trapeze.
Vincent threw back his head and laughed.
“Hold that thought,” he ordered. Closing her door and moving around to the other side of the truck, he let himself in and easily gained his seat.
“This might sound lame, but I need to tell you, I still live with my parents,” he disclosed.
Seriously?
She hadn’t asked, but she’d put him at somewhere around his upper thirties. Wasn’t that a bit old to be…?
“Huh. I see. A basement dweller,” she quipped, attempting to nod her head, seriously.
“No,” he countered with the same amount of fake-gravity. “I’m not below-ground.
There’s still my childhood bedroom, complete with original posters of Shakira and J-Lo on the walls, but these days I’m ensconced in the more grown-up guest suite.”
“Good to know,” Lace snorted, unable to hold back her mirth. “Not Britney?” she asked. “That wasmygirl back in the day.”
“Nope. Although since we’re sharing, I’ll admit toalsosecretly liking Josie and the Pussycats. But if you dare tell anyone, I’ll?—"
“…have to kill me,” Lace finished for him with an amused snort. “Isn’t that what you military types always say?”
Vincent actually roared, and it was a hot moment before he could find his voice again.
He gave a loud, wheeze-sigh, then tsked. “I wasactuallygoing to say that I’d take your ice cream cone away from you and eat it all up. But potato/ potahto,” he quipped back.
Lace laughed. Really laughed.
This was the most fun she’d had in…
Damn.She couldn’t even say how long.
Probably since before her grandparents died.
Sure, she had a few casual friends. And then, of course, there was Bobbie. Bobbie kept her balanced. But on the gleeful front,girlfriends who knew you well didn’talwaysapproach life on happy little tippy-toes to try and make problems go away. More often—as was the case with Bobbie and Lace since her diagnosis—they helped you dig deeply into your problems to save you from going insane.
“So,” Lace finally managed, after climbing back out ofthatrabbit hole, “you live with your parents,” she reiterated, as she wiped a few tears of hilarity from the corners of her eyes.
“Temporarily,” he amended with a wag of his finger. “I just got out of the service a little over a month ago.”
“Oh! I didn’t know that. Then, my bad,” she admitted before changing tacks. “And how old are you?”
“Forty,” he grumbled.
“Hey. That’s not a bad thing. I’m thirty-seven,” she let him know, before going back to their original subject. “So, that means you’re possibly looking for a place, but taking your time while settling back into civilian life,” she ascertained.
Vincent’s face grew introspective.
“Well, up until last week, I wasn’t exactly anxious to find a house of my own, but now things have changed,” he told her.
Yikes.That sounded serious.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Lace questioned gently.