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My work cell rings, and I answer, “Wilder Builds and Reno’s.”

“You’re not texting me back. Why aren’t you texting me back?”

I roll my eyes before glancing at my purse where it sits on the floor tucked under my desk. My phone sits somewhere in the mess of it. “I’m working. You know that thing I do five days a week to feed my spawn.”

“I know you have your phone.”

“Andy…” I lean back in my chair. “It’s in my purse, probably on silent.”

“I’ll remind you; you have spawn. Shouldn’t that thing be on bust?”

My eyes roll to the ceiling. “Everyone has my work number for this reason.”

“None of this excuses why I haven’t heard from you all week.”

My brows inch high. “You haven’t been texting me all week.”

I’m digging through my purse for my phone to confirm this when Andy huffs a dramatic sigh. “Nooooo. I’ve been waiting for my friend to text me so that I don’t seem like I’m being the pushy friend who wants the deets on what’s happening now that she’s working with her ex-lover slash brother-in-law. The ex-lover slash brother-in-law who is killer freaking hot, I might add.”

“Sounds pretty pushy to me.”

“Exactly. You forced my hand, babe. A whole week? Seriously?”

I can’t help myself. I laugh. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Do I have to pry this shit from you? Honestly, it’s like pulling teeth.”

“Probably more painful.” I wince. “But sorry to disappoint, nada has happened.”

“Nada?” Andy snaps. “Bullshit.”

“Nada,” I confirm.

“That’s funny. I heard you, Holt, and Owen were sighted at the park, looking mighty cozy.”

“We were spotted?” My pitch is rising. “By whom?”

“I don’t give out my sources. Quit being shady.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Don’t you dare. I’ll drive my ass to Rubble Ridge and be waiting in your house with tell-all torture serum.”

“You mean wine,” I mutter dryly.

“Red wine. Your headache will be splitting.” I swear I hear bottles clinking in the background. She singsongs, “Sounds an awful lot like torture to me.”

“Are you in the liquor store?”

“Desperate times, babe.”

“Andy…” My eyes roll from the ceiling to land on Holt. Prickly heat moves through my body, slithering along my bones. “It’s not even eleven in the morning.”

“Like I said, desperate times. I’m thinking something aged in a whiskey barrel.”

“You are not coming to my house tonight.”

“Eh, not tonight. I’ll come tomorrow. Tell Memaw she’s on kid duty.”