She’s being pushy, but that’s because she knows I’ll probably drag my feet about this. I’m still a little shocked at hearing myself referred to as thirty.

Thirty

Thirty!

Lyric is almost eight years old now. Where the heck have the years gone? Ditra is right, I’ve let years just go by, throwing myself into work and momming and riding the rollercoaster with Blue. It’s been close to three years since I told him to get out of my life, and that’s exactly what he did. Other than sending a check every month, and that note last year, I haven’t heard from him. No more notes, no emails, no drunken calls, no sweet sober calls.

There are angry lyrics, though, which I know are directed toward me.

Picking up the paper, I nod across the table at my best friend. “Can you call the realtor? Let’s take a look at this house tomorrow afternoon.”

She squeals with delight. “Yes!”

Chapter Thirty-One

“You’re moving?”

I turn from my closet door and nod at him. “Yes. I put in an offer yesterday and it was accepted. It’s a great house, Lyric loves it, too.”

“She loves it here. I thought you did, too. Did something happen you’re not telling me?”

“No, of course not. I just think we’ve worn out our welcome here. Do you realize we’ve been living here for five years?”

He shrugs his wide shoulders. “So? There’s no time limit, Piper. I told you that when you moved in.”

I sit on the bed and tuck my legs under me. “I know, and we’ve loved living here. I feel like it’s time for me to be on my own and not be leaning on you.”

“Leaning on me?” He sits beside me on the bed. “I never thought you were leaning on me.”

“Yeah, I have been.”

He shakes his head and his blond hair falls across his eyes. “If you were, I don’t care.”

“I care.”

He searches my face, and I see confusion—even sadness—in his. A pang hits my heart. I didn’t think he would be upset about me moving out. I thought he would be happy for me, maybe even relieved to have us all out of his house. Especially since Acorn has been having accidents all over the cream-colored carpet. Josh has never acted mad about it, he’s always been understanding, and even helped me when I rented a big carpet cleaner. It must bother him, though.

“I don’t want you guys to move out. I thought we were like a family here.”

“We are,” I assure him, touching his arm. “And we love you so much. But on the other hand, we’re not a family, Josh. We’re pretending to be one. We go to dinners and movies, we sit on top of each other on the couch at night, we cook together. I’ve been posing as your girlfriend and you’ve been posing as my boyfriend. It’s probably really confusing for Lyric.”

“I don’t think that’s true at all. She’s safe and loved. She’s happy.”

“Yes. That’s all true. But I do think us living together could be confusing for her now that she’s getting older, and I think it’s confusing for us, too.”

“Life is confusing. Just go with it.”

I smile. “It is. But I’m starting to think it doesn’t have to be. At least not this much. Look at us. We’ve spent the last five years in a state of massive confusion, together and individually. I think I need a new beginning of sorts. I think you do, too. Does that make sense?”

He rubs the stubble on his cheek. “It does. But I still don’t want you guys to leave.” The last word takes on a note of anguish, as if the thought is ridiculous and unthinkable for him.

“I know. We’ll still see each other, Josh. I don’t want this to ruin our friendship. That would kill me. I still want you in our lives. Just in separate houses.”

“Are you kidding? You’re not getting rid of me that easy. I still expect you guys to come over once a week and eat my latest culinary experiments.”

I smile with relief. “Of course we will. What would I do without my weekly stomach ache?”

Leaning across the space between us, I put my arm around him for a hug, and he hugs me back tightly. I close my eyes and sigh against his shoulder. It’s going to be hard not seeing him every day, because he’s been my safe, consistent place for a long time.

I pull away a little, but linger my hand on his muscular shoulder. It feels good to have a man’s arms around me again. To smell his cologne. He gives me a bittersweet crooked smile, then leans down and presses his lips to mine. When I squeeze his shoulder in response, he touches my cheek, tilts his head, and kisses me deeper.

After a few moments, he pulls back a fraction, perhaps waiting for me to push him away. I don’t, and he kisses me again. Something deep inside me snaps like a thin unraveling thread, and I get lost in his soft kisses. I move my hand down his arm, slowly sliding my hand under the sleeve of his shirt, feeling the smooth, hard muscle. Gripping my waist, he pulls me until I’m sitting on his lap. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss his full lips.