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“I didn’t mean home, home. Not that we would say no to you wanting to live here for a bit while you got things sorted out, but I meant, move back to Meadow Bay.”
“Mom, my boss is in San Francisco.” I drop the knife on the counter with a clank. “It’s not like I can work remotely.” After inhaling to steady my breathing, I continue, “There aren’t hundreds of openings for a personal assistant for clients the caliber of Henry Burke.”
“Yes, I know that.” Her eyes flash with anger, causing my shoulders to sink.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. It was uncalled for.” Damn it. Why am I treating her like crap when all she wants is to see me more often? Besides, I miss her and Dad also. And my brothers. They don’t hate me as much as they used to.
It wasn’t so bad when my best friend, Layla Monroe, was my roommate, but she moved back after graduation. Now, I’m alone.
“It’s fine.” My mother snaps the end of a carrot, effectively dismissing me as guilt eats at my gut. I hate it when my parents disapprove of me. But my job is in San Francisco, and Henry pays me a lot of money to be at his beck and call–a lot of money.
Not to mention, I don’t want to see Cole with his arm around a different girl every day. His serial dating during my junior and senior years of high school drove me to move 2 ½ hours away and fortified my decision to apply for a position I never thought I’d get after graduation.
“Why don’t you take out pitchers of water, lemonade, and tea for the boys? It’s not too hot today, but I’m sure they’ve worked up a sweat.”
My shoulders tense. I know it was stupid to think I could avoid seeing him, but going outside, where they are, is the last thing I want to do. But disappointing her again, and on her birthday, would lead to disapproving glances, sighs, and mutterings of, ‘Where did I go wrong in raising kids?’ And ‘Was I that bad of a parent?’
I want to hear that less than I want to see Cole’s smirking grin and hear my brothers’ smart mouths. Which is a testament to the guilt trip my mom can lay on when she’s in a mood.
It takes the balancing act I perfected when Layla and I worked for Blanche at the café to carry three pitchers at once. We worked there part-time in high school and on weekends for the busy season during college. Layla returned more frequently than I did and is working there now while trying to get her photography business off the ground.
I juggle the three pitchers of drinks and a roll of plastic cups while using my hip to bounce open the door.
“You could make two trips.”
“Nope.” I grin with pride over not dropping anything or spilling a drop onto the floor. “I’ve got this.”
“Sure, you do.” My mom rolls her eyes and returns to her cooking.
When I turn around, I run smack into Cole. “Shit.” I bounce off his chest and hold my body as stiff as possible, but not before sloshing the equivalent of a cup of lemonade onto the patio’s wooden slates.
“Here, Pip.” Cole snatches one of the pitchers from my hand.
Pip. I hate that nickname. Short for Pipsqueak. But when he calls me Pip in that deep baritone voice, my toes curl.
“Let me get that.” His too-perfect dimples pop as he smiles. The man sure loves to save the day….and lives for attention. His fingers brush mine as he retrieves the cups and the other two pitchers like he’s the one who served drinks for a living.
“Thank you.” Jesus. My voice squeaked. Heat creeps up my neck and across my cheeks. You’re such a loser.
“You’re welcome.” The five o’clock shadow covering his jaw only accentuates his masculinity and sexiness. The man should be outlawed.
“How’re things in San Francisco?” His chest muscles bulge as he adjusts the distribution of the items he’s carrying for me. Who fills out a T-shirt that well?
“Good. Perfect.” I run out of adjectives to use and stand awkwardly while shifting from foot to foot.
He pauses as if he’s waiting for me to pick up the conversation, but I don’t have the intelligence to add anything else or to ask my own question. Not that I want to know how he’s doing. It would lead to who he’s dating, and I’ve avoided that topic like the plague for over four years.
“Well….” The dimples increase in size. “It’s good to see you. Thanks for the drinks.”
“I…”
“You?” Cole tips his head sideways and lifts an eyebrow.
“Cole!” Connor snaps. “Get your ass over here. We’re playing football. Not talking to my sister.”
“Bite me, Connor.” I glare at him, spin on my heel, and march into the house; pretending I’m mad that he interrupted is better than announcing I’m relieved. Because I didn’t have any idea what was going to come out of my mouth.
I think you’re the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. I want you to tell my brother to shut up and that you’re going to keep talking to me for the rest of your life.
