Too Close to Touch by Georgia Beers Page A

I think I’m a little old for that, don’t you?”
    “But did you want to?”
    Gretchen honestly thought about the question. “No. I didn’t.
    Maybe I’m too selÞ sh to have children. I like my independence, you know? I like that I can up and go whenever I want to. I like my quiet time. I like having money to spend on frivolous things.” She glanced at Kylie, who was studying her face with those impossibly blue eyes.
    “What about you? Are you the motherly type? Because I think you totally are.”
    “I thought about it for a long time, but I feel very much like you do. I like my independence. Besides, being an aunt is really cool. When I hear the old biological clock ticking and I start to panic, I just go grab my little niece and take her out for the day. That usually cures me pretty quickly.”
    They both laughed, and Kylie waved to some new arrivals.
    “You don’t have to stand here with me, you know,” Gretchen said softly. “I see a lot of people who look like they want to talk with you.
    I’m a big girl. I’m okay on my own.”
    Kylie studied her. “Actually, I’m good. At least until my mother comes looking for me. I’d like to hang right here with you. If you don’t mind.”
    Gretchen held her gaze. “I don’t mind.” She sipped her beer.
    v
    Mick grumbled as she parked her SUV over a block from the O’Briens’ house. Her intention had been to arrive a good two hours earlier, but she’d slept in after her Saturday night out and Tina was becoming more and more difÞ cult to shake loose in the morning. She was going to have to nip that situation in the bud very soon.
    She hopped out of the truck after checking her hair in the rearview mirror and smoothing the sides back over her ears. Grabbing the twelve-pack of Killian’s for Mr. O’Brien and the bouquet of daisies for
    • 80 •
    TOO CLOSE TO TOUCH
    the Mrs., she began whistling a happy tune and headed up the street, looking forward to seeing Kylie.
    This was such a nice neighborhood, the residences way nicer than the piece of crap shed she’d grown up in. It was hard to believe a house of such dilapidation could be found only four blocks away. Mick had her alcoholic mother and absentee father to thank for that. The O’Briens had practically taken her in, not that her parents had noticed. She was sure she’d had more square meals served to her in her childhood by Caroline O’Brien than by her own mother. And she’d spent more school nights in Kylie’s bedroom than in her own.
    It used to make her sad. Then there were a few years where it made her furiously angry. Now, she was indifferent. Her mother was long dead and she had no idea where her father was. For all intents and purposes, the O’Briens were her parents and she treated them with the same respect she’d treat anybody who’d taken such good care of her.
    “Hi, Mrs. Keeler,” she called to a woman working on her front yard landscaping a few doors before the O’Briens’. “Looks great.”
    The older woman looked up. “Oh! Hi, there, Michelle. Good to see you.”
    “You coming to the party?” Mick gestured with the daisies in the direction of the O’Briens’.
    “Soon, dear. I want to Þ nish this up Þ rst.”
    “Do you need help?”
    “Oh, no, you sweet girl. I’ve got it. Thank you, though.”
    “Okay, I’ll see you there.”
    As she neared the house, a familiar Þ gure approached from the other direction. Mick was staring, trying to pinpoint the identity of the newcomer, when the Þ gure spoke, conÞ rming her suspicions.
    “Mick? Mick Ramsey? Is that you, you sexy thing?”
    “Jorianna Elizabeth Victoria Mitchell? Are those really your lovely dulcet tones I’m hearing?”
    “You’re the only one who can call me that and survive,” Jori scolded as they met on the sidewalk.
    Mick set her packages down on the ground so she could wrap her arms around her old friend in a warm hug. “What the hell are you doing here? I can’t believe you didn’t call