“Not all women,” I clarified. “Just those I’ve scorned.”
“Have you been scorning women recently?” Hank asked, clearly finding my discomfort hilarious.
“No. I’ve done no scorning in the last five years.”
“That you know of,” Ash added with a laugh.
I frowned at my sister and my friend, irritation swelling in my chest. “Y’all make me sound like a scoundrel. I am not.”
“You were.” Hank shrugged. “But, you’re right. You aren’t anymore, not on purpose anyway.”
Before I could protest his last comment, Ash said gently, “You can’t help it, being as cute as you are.”
“I’m not cute. I’m just friendly. Nothing wrong with being friendly.”
“You’re a huge flirt, is what you are,” Hank said dryly before taking a sip of his beer. “You and Beau inherited the gene from your daddy. There’s no competing when either of you are around.”
Being told I had anything in common with my father used to fill me with pride. Now it left me hollow. I had a feeling Hank was speaking from some recent personal experience with Beau, because Beau definitely wasn’t celibate.
I decided to change the subject rather than rub salt in the wound. I still wanted to know about this Sarah.
“So Hank, I came upon your houseguest on the high Moth Run overlook earlier today.”
His eyes widened then narrowed. “My houseguest?”
“Yeah, Sarah.”
“Sarah . . .” His tone was noncommittal.
“Said she was staying at your place on the lake, said you two went to college together.”
I saw he understood who I meant, though his gaze was still cagey. “You just . . . came across her?”
“That’s right. She was lost, so I drove her up the mountain to your place.”
“Hmm.” He took another drink of his beer, peering at me.
I wanted to ask him who the lady was, but the way he was staring made me think the more interested I sounded, the less likely he’d be to share.
“Anyway, uh, I just wanted to let you know I showed her the way to the house. I called Duane on my way over here to have her rental taken to Bandit Lake.”
Infuriatingly, “Thanks,” was all he said, confirming my suspicion that he wasn’t inclined to expand on the subject.
This realization left me frustrated, though I covered it with an easy smile and said, “No problem.” Turning to Ash, I offered her my elbow; I wasn’t going to get any information out of Hank. “Do you still want that margarita, Ash?”
She slipped her fingers onto my arm and nodded. “Sure do.”
With measured politeness, I led my sister away from Hank and toward the bar, greeting those we met with thanks and my very best show of affability. But my thoughts were in mild disorder. This Sarah had seemed interested, at least I’d thought so. But then, I was so rusty these days, maybe I’d been mistaken. Maybe it was just flirting. Maybe I was misreading natural charm as interest. Clearly it was time for me to get back in the game.
Regardless, if Sarah did belong to Hank then . . . well, maybe that was for the best.
CHAPTER 4
“I have lost friends, some by death . . . others by sheer inability to cross the street.”
― Virginia Woolf
~Sienna~
Coming to grips with my inability to order Chinese takeout was a momentously horrendous moment. It would go down in infamy as one of my “First World Problems Hall of Fame” moments, along with that one time I couldn’t find a nail polish color I liked at the manicurist’s, and that other time the Starbucks drive-thru was unexpectedly closed.
The horror! I WOULD NEVER RECOVER.
. . . just kidding. It was fine.
Hank had packed the fridge, pantry, and spice cabinet—very nice of him—so I decided to make tacos instead. I made a mental note to have him provide me the receipt for the groceries so I could reimburse him when I made the monthly rental payment.
I was frying up the ground beef when the landline rang. I picked it up immediately, hoping it was Marta. I’d called her earlier. She hadn’t picked up, likely because she hadn’t recognized the phone number. I’d left a message explaining my lack of cell reception, but left out the part about me being lost. No need to freak her out unnecessarily.
“Hello?”
“Sienna?”
“Yes.” I was relieved; thus, I shouted my answer. “It’s so good to hear your voice.”
“Oh my God, Sienna. We have been worried sick. What were you thinking, leaving the guys at the airport like that? And renting your own car? Using your own name? You could have been kidnapped.”
For being the most business-minded of my siblings, Marta was dramatic. My brother Pedro, an interpretive dance performance artist and insurance actuary in New York, was the only one more dramatic than Marta.