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He nodded in understanding and then stood to join me at the sink. “I’m worried you still don’t see it.”
“Don’t see what?” I asked, stepping back.
He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “Why are you really here, Brooke?”
I gave him the most basic answer, the answer I’d clung to for the last year and a half. “Because I want to tutor your girls.”
“Why are you here?” he repeated with emphasis.
“Because…” I grappled for another response. “I want to travel…I want to see the world.”
“You have,” he pointed out. “You’ve seen more of the world than most people will see in their entire lifetime. Do you feel any more fulfilled?” I narrowed my eyes, not liking where the conversation was going. Maybe he could tell I’d reached my limit because he stepped back and held up his hands in surrender. “I won’t keep pushing you. The point of all of this was…I don’t know…to let you know that if you head home and find that you’d like to stay, we’ll be happy for you.”
I frowned. “What about the girls?”
He smiled softly. “You’ve given them so much, but I think you might need them more than they need you.”
Even days later, that conversation is still nagging at me. I know he was trying to give me an out if I wanted it, and though I appreciate his concern, I don’t need it. I’ll be returning to Spain in two weeks no matter what.CHAPTER TWENTY-SIXI dip toward the air-conditioning vent and close my eyes, sighing as the cold air blasts my face. It’s two weeks until Christmas and Texas is unseasonably warm—we’re talking low 90s. Poor Santa Claus is going to be a sweaty mess in that sleigh of his. I want to shred my bulky knit sweater like I’m the Hulk, but then Ellie would see that I stole her lacy bralette before I left for Spain, so instead, I suffer in silence.
“Jesus, how much stuff did you bring home for two weeks?!” Ellie groans before she slams the trunk.
I shrug. “Winter clothes are heavy.”
“Yeah, and you don’t even need them,” she says, slipping into the driver’s seat and buckling her seatbelt. “You should have brought flip-flops and a bikini.”
I grin. “I did, along with my winter clothes. Why do you think my luggage is so heavy?”
She rolls her eyes and puts the car in drive.
It’s been months since I’ve seen her and though I’ve already pissed her off, I know it’s all for show. She’s missed me as much as I’ve missed her, and if she wasn’t currently hurtling down a highway at 80 MPH, I’d reach across the console and squeeze her as tight as I could. She’d hate it, which only makes me want to do it more.
I just finished nearly 17 hours of travel and smell like an old boot. By contrast, Ellie smells like an Herbal Essences commercial and looks like she could star in one too. She’s wearing cutoff jean shorts and a tank top. Her long blonde hair is braided down her back, loose and simple. I would tell her how pretty she looks, but her head is already big enough to fit on Mt. Rushmore, so I just keep it to myself.
It’s a short drive to Westlake Hills, and while Ellie fills me in on all the drama that’s been going on at Twin Oaks since we last spoke, I stare out the window trying to place the odd sense of foreboding that settled in my stomach the second my plane touched down on the tarmac.
I know it has to do with James and whether or not we’ll cross paths while I’m in town. Austin is a big enough place that the odds of us bumping into each other randomly are slim to none. The only place I could possibly see him would be at Twin Oaks, and I have no plans to go there. Therefore, I shouldn’t be worried. I won’t see him. I’ll stay for two weeks, hang out with family, and catch my flight back to Spain.
“—wait for the winter gala to be done! Martha has cranked up her annoying tendencies tenfold in the last few weeks.”
The tail end of Ellie’s rant catches my attention.
“Winter gala? For the Philanthropic League?”
“Yes,” she stresses with a harsh scowl. “Have you not been listening?”
“Sorry. I zoned out.” My apologetic half-smile doesn’t work, so I add, “It’s like 3 AM my time!”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”
She turns back to the road and starts to launch back into her rambling, but I’m curious. “When’s the fundraiser?”
“Next week.”
I brace myself for the worst possible news. “Are you going?”
Her amused smirk is enough of an answer on its own, but then she adds, “We both are.”
No. I have the perfect out because like most normal adults, I don’t travel with layers of taffeta stuffed next to my socks. No dress, no gala. I think this will be enough of an out on its own, but the second we arrive home, I suspect I’m wrong. My dad hugs me hard, telling me how happy he is to have me home. Martha stands to the side, wringing her hands out excitedly. She looks like she’s about to combust, and I know, before she even tells me, that she already has a dress waiting for me.
