Lanie sighed. “Because I hate pitching in at the front desk. It’s torture for me. I’m not good with people like you are. Everyone has questions, so many questions, and I never know the answers. You just effortlessly figure it all out.”

Again River looked surprised. “Everything you do seems effortless.”

“It’s an act. Trust me, I’m a fish out of water here.”

“Me too,” River breathed softly. “So we have stuff in common.”

“Seems like it.”

“The front desk isn’t that bad,” River said. “It’s all nice people that come through here, super nice. No one yells that their French fries didn’t get cooked right or that I brought the wrong kind of beer. Instead of saying ‘Touch my ass again and you’ll be walking funny tomorrow,’ now I just say ‘Nice to talk to you and have a good day!’ I like it.”

Lanie laughed at that.

River smiled, but shook her head. “Seriously, you have no idea how amazing this place is. How lucky I feel.”

Something else they had in common. “Waitressing when pregnant sounds awful. And hard. How did you end up in that job?”

“Started when I was fifteen.”

Lanie gaped at her, trying to imagine that. “Fifteen!”

River shrugged. “I was on my own and it was the only thing I could do after school in the afternoons and night without hooking. I didn’t want to drop out.”

Lanie was stunned. Here she was going on about her life with a decent-sized chip on her shoulder for how she’d grown up. But at least her parents had waited until she was eighteen and off to college before giving her the boot. “Sounds like you had it rough.”

“We’ve all had it rough one way or another.”

Lanie nodded. “That’s very true. But some people more than others.”

Their gazes met and River whispered, “You’ve had it rough too.”

A statement, not a question, but Lanie nodded, wanting her to know she wasn’t alone.

“I’m not feeling sick anymore,” River said. “I think I can get back to work.”

Lanie looked at her doubtfully.

“No, really.”

Lanie took stock. She could see the color was back in River’s cheeks and she was breathing easier, and nodded. “Okay. But take it easy.”

River grabbed her hand and met her gaze. “Thanks.”

For most of Lanie’s life, the fast, easy friendships most women seemed to find so readily among themselves had been something that had eluded her. But this felt different. She just squeezed River’s hand and pointed to her water bottle. “Drink. Rehydrate.”

And then she walked out of the restroom. Cora just happened to be walking by and gave Lanie a quick smile.

“Just who I was looking for,” she said.

Oh shit. Someone had heard what’d happened between her and Mark last night. She steered Cora away from the bathroom and down the hallway, wanting to make sure River fully recovered before Cora caught sight of her. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “It was a complete fluke. I’d had a few shots, and he’s way too good-looking for his own good—” She grimaced. “Which you don’t want to hear about your own son, I know, but—”

Cora arched one single, perfect eyebrow. “Are you talking about Marcus?”

Lanie froze. “Um, aren’t you?”

“No,” her boss said with some amusement. “But now I think you should go first.”

Oh boy. “I’d really rather not,” she said with a wince.

Cora looked at her for a long beat and then apparently decided to take mercy. “I was wondering how you’d feel about adding Owen’s bottling company to your list of things you’re designing for.”

“Owen needs a whole new design?”

Cora nodded. “And he wants it from you. There’s some other things we’re looking at doing as well, all of which could add as much as another month to your contract if that appeals to you.”

She couldn’t deny that it was nice, very nice after Kyle, to be wanted and valued, but this was dangerous territory, staying another month—especially in light of her accidental kissing-Mark reveal.

Alyssa came around the corner. “Did you ask her yet?”

“Just did,” Cora said.

“Yay!” Alyssa smiled at Lanie. “So . . . you down? Because it’d be so great for Owen, obviously. And us. But most especially it’d be great for Sam and Sierra, right, Mom?”

“Absolutely,” Cora said. “They already love you so much.”

Lanie felt herself go still inside. She wasn’t sure she could commit to anything right now, especially this place with all these people, wonderful as they were. Her own axis was still too shaky.

“Why don’t you just think about it, honey,” Cora said. “No pressure.”

Right. No pressure to get over her sham of a marriage. No pressure to get her life together. No pressure to decide whether to stay here at the first job she’d ever loved when it wasn’t her work skills they coveted. No pressure on anything at all . . .

Chapter 10

Anxiety is having 99 problems and 86 of them are made-up scenarios that might never happen, but you stress about them anyway.

When River finally made it out of the bathroom, she leaned against the wall for a moment. Gracie was there, sprawled in the hallway. She clambered to all fours and licked River’s hand in greeting.

“Thanks,” River whispered and gave the big fluffball a hug before heading back to her desk. Needing calm, she put in the earbuds she’d found in her top desk drawer on her first day, left over from someone else’s time in this position, and brought up her calm app. She opted for beach sounds, her favorite. Waves gently lapped at a shore, a breeze blew through some palm trees . . .

“Here,” someone said with a southern accent that made his voice sound like melted butter. “Sip this.”

River startled because she knew that voice. She’d been avoiding both it and the guy it belonged to, and she’d been good at it too.

Holden. He stood there in a cowboy hat, jeans, and boots, looking like every cowboy fantasy personified, Gracie at his side. Gracie adored him. Reluctantly, River pulled out one earbud, deathly afraid of being accidentally nice to him and being deserted and left alone and pregnant.

Oh, wait. That’d already happened.

“Easy,” he said and she looked up into his blue gaze as he held out a cup. “Peppermint tea.”

“Been pregnant a lot, have you?” she asked as Gracie lay down at her feet with a huge groan, making Holden smile.

And not that she wanted to admit it, but he had a nice smile.

“Drink,” he said.

“Not thirsty.”

He gave a barely there shake of his head. “Do you ever accept help?”

“No.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because then you might expect something from me in return,” she said.

His gaze held hers for a long beat. “Fine. Consider it a favor to me, then, that you take a damn sip,” he said. “That way, in your crazy logic, I owe you.”