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“Yep,” he said. “We’re on a real streak.”
“Nice.”
Cannon cocked a brow at me. “You want to keep up the chit-chat? I’m cool with it, if you need to. I get how intimidating VanDoren women can be.”
“Anne doesn’t intimidate me.”
Cannon looked skeptical.
“She’s a powerhouse,” I said. “No doubt about that. Wild and full of life and…” I shook my head. “But it’s never been her that was the issue.”
He nodded, understanding flashing over his eyes.
“Has the party started without me?” Another voice sounded behind us, and I glared at the guy I’d seen making Anne laugh at the restaurant last week. Brandon? Brett? “Brad,” he said, reaching out a hand.
Cannon shook it first since I made no move to.
“Cannon,” he said.
“Persephone’s husband,” Brad said. “Anne told me all about you. You play for the Reapers. I’m a big fan.”
“Thanks.”
“And you are?” Brad turned to me, and I know I had absolutely no right to dislike the guy but I fucking did. Anne said they were friends, but one look at him told me he was exactly what her father wanted for her. His suit had to cost more than my car.
“Jim!” Anne’s voice came from the now opened front door, Anne and her sister standing in the middle of the entryway. “And Brad?” She smiled at us both as she shared a silent look with Persephone before waving us all inside.
“So good to see you again, Jim,” Persephone said, greeting me with a kind hug that I reciprocated. It had been years since I’d seen her but she’d always been so nice to me.
“Easy,” Cannon warned, and I immediately ended the barely two-second hug.
Persephone rolled her eyes and waved him off. “Don’t mind him,” she said. “He’s part caveman.”
Cannon grunted without an argument, electing to slide his hand around his wife’s waist as they walked toward what I remembered as the formal dining room.
I couldn’t believe I’d talked myself into coming to dinner. I must’ve been out of my fucking mind.
“I brought scotch,” Brad said, handing Anne a bottle that looked as old and as expensive as time itself. “I think you father likes that year.”
“How thoughtful,” Anne said.
“Shit,” Brad said, cringing slightly as he tucked the bottle under his arm. “Anne, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking—”
“It’s fine,” she said, waving him off, and I tilted my head. What the hell? “No need to pretend like alcohol doesn’t exist just because I’m sober.”
What. The. Absolute. Hell?
How had I not known that? We’d been working together, had dinner together, and she never once—
“And you brought one of Lyla’s pies!” She grinned at the pink box. “Her pumpkin is my absolute favorite.” She took the pie from my hands, kissing my cheek in thanks before heading down the hallway after her sister.
I hung back a few seconds, trying to stop myself from chasing her down and asking her all the questions assaulting my brain.
The first being why she didn’t trust me enough to tell me what she was going through.
CHAPTER7
Anne
