When my gaze circles back to Brandon, I freeze. His head is bowed in reverence, but his captivating eyes are fixed squarely on mine. A stare-off commences. Neither of us move. I don’t blink. I can’t even breathe . . .
The longer we stare at one another, the more my heart trembles and aches, overwhelmed by the sudden sense of loss. The longing. The desperate need to restore the connection that was lost by one stupid, irreversible mistake.
Finally, his eyes close, his dark lashes brushing across chiseled ivory cheeks. He looks more peaceful now, as if we just had a long overdue heart-to-heart instead of sharing a tense look. His lips brush softly together as he prays a prayer that doesn’t quite match Grandma’s. Do I see him mouth my name?
Is he . . . praying forme?
My heart jolts like it’s been zapped by a taser.
Who am I kidding? I don’t hate him. I could never hate him. For better or worse, I love Dr. Brandon Timothy Wright. I always have, and I always will.
***
I hang back as everyone ambles into the dining room like lazy livestock, attempting to keep a careful distance between myself, Adam, and his parents. Hopefully, I’ll end up on the opposite end of the table as Mrs. Smart.
Unfortunately, I have no such luck.
“Evie,” Francine, my stepmom, calls as I enter the dining room. “I saved a spot for you!” She pats the space next to her excitedly.
I end up sandwiched between her and Brandon—with Adam directly across from me. Of all the unfortunate seating arrangements, this has to be the worst. Worse still? On Adam’s left is his father, and on his right? The she-devil herself: his mother.
Mrs. Smart airs out her cloth napkin and settles it across her lap with the ceremonious pomp and circumstance of a British royal. “Genevieve,” she croons, smiling tightly. “So wonderful you decided to join us. We missed you last year.”
Translation:You’ve been avoiding me since you left my baby boy at the altar, you little brat.
My mouth pinches into something resembling a smile. “Oh, I’m sure you did.”
Dad shoots me a look of warning from across the table.
Adam shifts in his seat, smiling ruefully beneath long, blond lashes. Despite all my mistakes, Adam and I are on good terms. Well, as good of terms as we can be after I stood him up on what was meant to be our wedding day. I don’t regret my decision to not marry my childhood best friend, but Idoregret how I publicly humiliated him in front of all our friends and family members. I never meant to hurt him like that. Becoming the region’s infamous runaway bride wasn’t on my Bingo card, and the guilt over it still haunts me. But seeing as Adam’s my manager at Dad’s agency, we’re cordial.
Silence fills our end of the table.
“So, I hear you’re still just working as a caregiver at the agency,” Mrs. Smart needles.
My jaw clenches as I cut up my turkey. “Yep. Just a caregiver still. What about you? Stilljusta homemaker?”
Brandon coughs next to me, then covers his mouth and apologizes.
Mrs. Smart’s eyes almost fall out of her head.
Adam raises his tumbler glass. “To Evie and Maggie for preparing a wonderful dinner for us. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.”
Everyone raises their glasses in unison.
Adam winks at me, and I grin conspiratorially, thankful for his interruption.
Our end of the table goes gravely quiet amongst the clatter of silverware and pleasant chatter coming from the other end. To get my mind off the tension buzzing between the few inches of space separating Brandon and I, I studyAdam. We don’t see each other often. He’s in the office while I’m out visiting clients most days. I can’t help but admit he looks nice. Normal. He’s wearing a thick cable knit sweater with a fat, smiling pumpkin on it. His shiny blond hair is combed neatly to the side, his milky skin aglow with a healthy flush.
Objectively speaking, Adam is handsome. His once boyish features have sharpened over the years, and his clear complexion has the rugged hint of a five o’clock shadow. He’s a man now. Still, it’s hard to see him as anything but my childhood best friend—the same kid who used to ask me if he could eat my boogers.
My eyes pan right, sensing someone’s gaze. Mrs. Smart is staring at me, her lips pinched tight in a bitter frown. I narrowly resist sticking my tongue out at her. She hasneverliked me, but after ending my engagement with Adam . . . Well, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if my face ended up on the back of a milk carton.
Dana leans across Brandon suddenly. “You’ll love this, Evie.” She waves Brandon onward as she pours herself a glass of Merlot. “Go on, tell her.”
Brandon’s eyes slide to mine. He winks at me, and I know it means less than nothing, but it makes my heart flutter all the same. “I fired my assistant.”
I raise an eyebrow.Again?
