Truth in Watercolors (Truth Series Book 2) by Kimberly Rose Page B

show up late for your own event, Marilyn.”
    “I’ve been here, shorty. I was showing Capri around.” He flicked Trace’s hair with his fingers.
    “Your event?” I tilted my head back to Wes, but he ignored me. Or maybe he didn’t hear me because he was mumbling something to Blue whose eyes jumped up in a glimmer to mine.
    “What? He didn’t tell you this here is all his?” Trace’s question brought my attention back to him where his stocky arms spread out wide.
    “No, he didn’t.” I folded my arms and cocked my eyebrow up at Wes. “So, what? You plan all this?”
    He stuffed his hands in his pocket and shrugged.
    “Every year? You set this whole thing up?” I had no idea. “That’s amazing.”
    “It’s nothing.” He pulled one hand from his pocket and scratched at his beard.
    “Of course it’s something, Wes.” He fidgeted nervously under my stare, but I couldn’t stop watching him. As well as I thought I knew him, there were still heart-stopping, tender layers I hadn’t seen yet.
    “Ya should bring her to the next drink in the street.” Blue shoved a cigarette into his mouth and turned his head from the breeze to light it.
    “Oh, I don’t think so, Bluebell.” Wes shifted on his feet and scratched his head.
    “Why not?” I straightened my back and glared at Wes.
    “It’s just a bunch of us sitting around in lawn chairs in the middle of Rocco’s street,” Wes said. “He lives in a cul-de-sac.”
    “Which one’s Rocco?” I asked him.
    “Good question. Where is Rocco?” Wes asked Trace.
    “Fucker’s at therapy. I’m with Wes though, Blue. I don’t know if drink in the street is this pretty lady’s kinda thing.” Trace crossed his arms over his chest and puffed it out a bit. I had a feeling I was being tested.
    “Yeah, I dunno, can she handle talks about tea bagging, docking, and spit roasting?” Blue widened his stance and puffed out a billow of smoke. This was definitely a test.
    “Bro—”
    “I don’t care what you say about dicks as long as I don’t see yours in action.” I cut Wes off who gasped next to me.
    “Did she just say dick?” he whispered. “She just said dick.”
    I ignored him. “As long as I don’t have to bear witness to any of these things, I can handle any talk of things such as Eiffel Towers and sausage hostages you decide to partake in.”
    “Holy shit!” Wes laughed out.
    “Woo wee,” Trace whooped.
    “Well, I’ll be damned.” Blue tossed his cigarette onto the asphalt and smashed it with the toe of his boot. “Bring her next time.” Blue gave Wes a weak punch in the arm. “See you soon, sweetheart.” He winked at me.
    “It was nice meeting you.” I smiled. “You, too,” I said to Trace.
    “Likewise. Give this fucker hell,” he said before clasping hands with Wes and following Blue away.
    “Did I pass?” I grinned up at Wes.
    “C, you didn’t just pass, you got your motherfucking degree.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulder again and pulled me in close. His lips met my forehead. “You’re awesome, you know,” he mumbled into me. I closed my eyes sighing inwardly.
    “Sometimes?”
    “Nope,” he said, lips still pressed gently against me. “All the time.”

 
    “H ere’s yours, Kensie, sweetie.” Mom handed Kensie the intricately woven basket they’d brought back from their recent trip.
    “It’s beautiful,” Kensie gushed. “What did you say it’s called again?”
    “It’s a sweetgrass basket. Gullah tradition passes down the craft from generation to generation. Each one is completely unique based on the style of the artist who wove it,” she said arranging apples in a larger one she had placed on the kitchen counter.
    “And your mom has one from every artist within a ten-mile radius,” my dad joked, earning my mom’s infamous evil eye.
    My parents had always been avid travelers, but after we had lost Ella, they chose to spend their trips volunteering rather than sightseeing. Losing her had