Unforgiven(12)

“These are for you.” I hand her the large bouquet.
“And you’re amazingly sweet too. Thank you,” she says as she loops her arm through mine. “Let’s go inside. Landon is showing everyone around.”
“Who else is here?” I’m suddenly curious because I didn’t notice the other cars that were parked off to the side of the garage until she said there were other people here.
“Oh, Melissa and Ashley from my work, and Detective Weston and his wife; you know him from the police station, right? It’s just a small group,” she reassures me.
Stepping into the foyer, I’m instantly in awe of how open and inviting the house is. For a home this large, I expected it to be cold and stark, but Reagan has outdone herself with making it feel warm, comfortable, and cozy; nothing like the modern feel of Landon’s old house. The walls are painted in rich, deep colors, and oversized mirrors, paintings, and pictures cover most of the walls surfaces.
I follow Reagan down the travertine-tiled floor to the massive kitchen. The kitchen island is covered with platters of antipasti, cheese boards, fruit, and crudité. “How many people did you say were here?” I ask Reagan, who has positioned herself next to the stove as she sips from her glass of white wine. “There’s enough food here to feed an army,” I remark.
“Just wait,” she says, setting her glass of wine on the marbled granite counter. “I have lasagna in the oven and a huge tray of homemade meatballs covered in marinara.” She opens one of the doors to the double oven and peeks inside.
“You two never do anything small, do you?” I ask, pulling a bottle of beer from the metal bucket that sits full of ice and a variety of beverages.
“I don’t think ‘small’ is in our vocabulary.” She winks at me.
“The house is gorgeous, Reagan. Seriously, I’m almost overwhelmed.”
“Is it too much?” she asks, the smile dropping from her face. “You know I don’t like extravagant…”
“No,” I cut her off. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just gorgeous and huge… but it’s homey. I like that it feels lived in—comfortable.” The smile creeps back across her face.
“Are you flirting with my woman?” I feel his hand smack my back before I see him. The rest of the guests follow him inside from the glass doors that slide open to the back patio. I hadn’t even realized that the wall of windows opened like that.
“Better look out; I’m a free man now.” I realize how insensitive that sounds the second it rolls off my tongue. Missing Lindsay and acting like an asshole aren’t allowed here tonight. Reagan grabs the flowers I brought her and starts unwrapping them and places them in a crystal vase. Everyone else stands around, awkwardly sipping on their drinks. “Sorry,” I mumble. Landon takes a deep breath and gives my shoulder a squeeze.
“Everyone, please help yourself to some appetizers,” he says as he steps around me and grabs an olive off the antipasti tray. Everyone gathers around the large island and helps themselves to appetizers while I slip out the door they just came from to the back patio. Patio isn’t quite how I’d describe this either—it’s more of an outdoor living area. It’s huge and decorated with outdoor furniture that looks like it should be inside a house. There is even a flat-screen TV mounted up in the corner. Soft music is being piped from the speakers that are built into the ceiling. Along the edges of the stained concrete, lush potted plants sit encasing the patio.#p#分页标题#e#
I walk to the open edge of the patio where it’s no longer covered and is truly outside. The backyard is fenced and enormous. It has to sit on over an acre. Green grass is growing and you can barely make out the outlines from the rows of sod that were most likely laid not more than a week or two ago. The backyard is illuminated with large lights from each of the back corners of the house, along with landscape lighting around the yard.
“Hey,” Landon says as he approaches me from behind. “Glad you could make it, buddy.”
“Thanks for the invite.” I stand with my arms crossed over my chest and just look out into the yard. I don’t know how this is supposed to go. My best friend’s sister just broke up with me to take a job across the country and I’m fucking angry—actually, no; I’m hurt.
“How are you doing?” he asks. Nothing like cutting straight to the chase, not that I’d expect anything different from him.
“Been better,” I admit.
“Have you heard from her?”
I let out a small groan before answering. “Nope. Last time I heard from her was two weeks ago when she came to get her stuff from my house.” He looks at me and nods his head once.