“That would be lovely, Wyatt. Thank you. Is that your house?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And just like that, Sherri is in the lead, guiding us back to my house, with the rest of us in tow.

“I’m famished,” Sherri says. “What were you planning for dinner?”

“We were just going to have takeout,” Amelia replies. “Wyatt, do you mind if we sit outside?”

“Not at all. I have a nice, covered patio this way.”

Once everyone is settled with a cold drink, we decide on pizza from a place in town I haven’t tried before and then settle in to talk.

Amelia is wound up tight, and if I’m not mistaken, nervous.

I don’t sit directly beside her, even though I’m dying to touch her again. But I don’t want to complicate things further with her and her family.

So, I hang back, playing the part of her friend.

“Have you always lived in Seattle, Wyatt?”

“Most of my life, yes. My family is here. I went away for college and then moved back to work. I’m an architect.”

“How nice. Being near family is so important,” Sherri replies. “Anastasia has just moved home, and Archer, my son, lives nearby. Now, if I could just talk Amelia into moving back permanently, I’d be a happy woman.”

“Oh, Mom,” Amelia says with a sigh.

“You’ve recently moved back?” I ask Anastasia, taking the focus off of Amelia.

“Yes, I’ve opened a wedding cake business over in Bellevue,” she says with a nod. “I just signed my first contract today, in fact, so I’m officially in business.”

“That’s so great,” Amelia says, a big smile on her face. “Way to go.”

“Thanks. I tried to call you, but your phone was off, so Mom and I decided to just come over and surprise you.”

“Especially since you didn’t seem to be in a hurry to see us,” Sherri adds, making Amelia scowl again. “I spoke to Jules the other day when I saw her at Gail and Steven’s house, and she told me you were here.”

“Mom, I’m sorry. It’s been a busy week. I was planning to call you tomorrow.”

“I was anxious to see you,” Sherri says with a smile.

Man, parents sure can lay on the guilt trip.

I wonder if they offer a class for that when you’re going through birthing classes because my mom is also the queen of the guilt trip.

“So, tell me more about the wedding cake business,” I say to Anastasia, earning a scowl from Amelia. What did I do wrong?

~Amelia~

Why am I always attracted to men who flirt with anything in a skirt?

I blow my nose for the sixteenth time in about five minutes and hang my head in my hands. I feel like my face is going to explode.

And I’m moody as fuck.

Perfect time for my phone to ring.

“Heddo.”

“Lia?” It’s Jules. “Are you okay?”

“Caught a cold,” I reply and wipe my already red and swollen nose. “God knows where.”

“I’m sorry. Do you need juice? Soup? NyQuil?”

“I’ve already ordered all of that. Should be delivered sood.”

“Well, you sound miserable, honey. I hope you feel better for girls’ night on Friday.”

“I will,” I promise her. “What’s up?”

“Well, your mom called my mom, who called me. And your mom likes Wyatt.”

“I’m sure.” I blow my nose again and then feel my stomach sink, the same way it did yesterday when we were over at Wyatt’s house. “But I’m not so sure that I like Wyatt right now.”

“Why?”

“Vinnie was a fucking flirt, Jules. He would flirt with anyone. But he had a habit of flirting the most with Anastasia.”

“I remember. The slimeball flirted with me, and I thought Nate was going to take his testicles off. But what does that have to do with Wyatt?”

“Well, Wyatt insisted that we have dinner with Mom and Stasia, which didn’t thrill me. I mean, he’s not my boyfriend, and he’s new. I wasn’t exactly ready to introduce him to my family. But it happened, so whatever. But when we were all together, he kept flirting with Stasia. Asking her all about her job and paying way more attention to her than I was comfortable with.”

“Well, she was new to him, so maybe he was just making small talk?”

“Maybe, but it felt way too similar to Vinnie, and anything that reminds me of him turns me off.”

“As it should,” she assures me. “Is it worth having a conversation with Wyatt to tell him that? Or will you just move on?”

“Right now, all I want is a fucking nap,” I reply. “So, I think when the delivery arrives, I’ll take some NyQuil and sleep the rest of the day away. Then I’ll think about Wyatt and why all men feel the need to be charming.”

She chuckles in my ear. “That’s probably a good idea.”

“Hey, were you calling for anything specific?”

“Not really. I was going to suggest lunch since I’ll be out your way later today, but we can do it another time. Get some rest, and don’t worry about the man across the street.”

“Thanks, girl.” I hang up and blow my nose, just as there’s a knock on the door. It’s my grocery delivery, thank God.

But I don’t even have the opportunity to take the cold medicine before my phone pings with a text.

From Wyatt.

Please come help me. I think I’m dying.

I frown, still irritated with him. But I like him well enough to not ignore a cry for help. So, I load my sickness supplies back into their bag and walk across the street.

“Heddo?” I call out as I walk through the front door. “Wyatt?”

“In here,” he replies from the living room. I walk in and stop cold, taking in the scene before me. Wyatt’s lying on the couch, one arm flung over his face. There’s a pile of used tissues on the coffee table, and a box of clean ones on his belly.

“Hi,” I say simply. He moves his arm and peeks at me.

“Are you here to save me?”

“From what?”

“Death.”

I smirk, walk to him, and press the back of my hand against his forehead. His nose is red, but his cheeks are pale. “No fever. You’re not dying.”

“I feel like I’m dying,” he says and sits up, then immediately reaches for another tissue to blow his nose. I snag one for myself. “Did you catch this?”

“Have you seen me?” I ask and then raise my eyebrows when he looks up at me. “Clearly, I did. I don’t usually sport the red nose.”

“You look beautiful,” he murmurs, then sneezes into his tissue. “Can you please make me some soup? Do you have soup?”

“Actually, I did bring my soup over to share,” I reply and walk into his kitchen. “It’s just out of a can.”

“Perfect,” he says. “Thanks. Are you okay?”

“I don’t feel great,” I reply. I’m not in the mood to discuss dinner last night. I’d be happy to never have to discuss it again. “But I’ll be okay.”

“Well, you’re doing better than me because I’m not entirely convinced of my survival right now.”

“God save me from the man cold,” I mutter as the soup heats up on the stove.

“Is it cold in here?”