His eyes flare with interest, but he hesitates, looking up at his mom. She blinks at me, her eyes filled with questions, but dips her chin.
“Yeeeeeeeeeees!” he cheers, throwing his gloved hand into the air. Lynley chuckles at his enthusiasm, and I can’t help but notice how much lighter she seems today. Maybe it’s just because it’s been weeks since I’ve laid eyes on her, but it’s almost as if a weight has lifted off her shoulders, every smile coming easier.
“My car’s just over there.” She points over my shoulder.
“I’ll follow you, then.” I look around. “But aren’t we missing someone? Where’s Ginny?”
Mase rolls his eyes. “She doesn’t like coming to my games. Says it’s too boring. So Mom left her with Nanny.”
I nod thoughtfully. “That makes sense. It’s good though, right?” His brows furrow doubtfully, but I continue, “Because it means your mom could fully focus on you and the game, huh?”
Mase pauses, thinking about that. “Yeah, I guess that’s true. And I don’t like watching her dance classes when Mom makes me go.” He shoots her a quick hopeful look, all the subtlety of a hammer against glass, but we’ll work on his negotiation skills.
Lynley laughs, ruffling his already messy hair. “Cheeky.” She glances at me, almost shy. “My mom took Ginny swimming.”
I pause. “Swimming? She got her cast off?”
She beams. “Yesterday, actually! Thank god, because she was losing her mind over the itching.”
“Now she can’t hit me with it when I want her out of my room,” Mase adds with satisfaction.
Lynley slides him a look, but before either of them can say anything else, I murmur, “Well, maybe we can arrange another ice cream date to include Ginny.”
Mase immediately grins, clearly seeing two ice creams in his future. Lynley’s a little more hesitant, the look she throws me telling me that she knows I’m pushing—hard.
“It’s like that, is it?” she murmurs, an echo of our phone conversation from weeks ago. I glance at Mase, but he’s staring down at his game ball with a dreamy smile.
“It’s like that,” I agree, sending her a wicked smirk.
Lynley doesn’t give in straight away, her eyes narrowing just slightly. But then she inclines her head. “I think Ginny would like that.”
Chapter 19
Lynley
As I pull into my mother’s driveway, I eye the SUV in my rearview mirror. I didn’t expect Grafton to follow us home, but shaking him off is apparently harder than getting gum out of Ginny’s hair.
Mase dives out, slamming the door shut with enough force that I wince. I follow at a more sedate pace, rounding my car just as Grafton kills his engine and gets out, walking purposefully toward me.
Mase doesn’t notice our hanger-on, already gunning for the house, thrusting the front door open and disappearing inside—probably off to tell his sister about his gameandhis ice cream. Grafton watches him go with amusement as he stops at my side—just a little too close to be considered polite.
“He’s a good kid,” he tells me, his deep voice rolling over me, making my stomach swoop. We’ve spoken on the phone a couple times these last few weeks, but hearing it in person has the intensity dialing up several notches.
“Yeah, I’m pretty fond of him.” I look over at the house with a soft smile. “He’s been struggling the last fewweeks…” I pause, brows drawing together. “Or months. But today…” A sigh escapes me, and I meet Grafton’s stare. “Being able to play baseball again has really helped, but…” I trail off, chewing on my bottom lip.
“What?”
My throat bobs on a rough swallow. “I can’t help but think his mood took a dive just before I accepted the truth about Christopher.” I gesture at the house. “He hasn’t once asked to go home, even though Ginny’s been asking almost every day.”
Grafton reaches out, his large hand sliding under my hair and cupping the back of my neck. His fingers dig lightly into the tense muscles there. An instant feeling of calm rushes through me, and I blink up at him, bewildered.
I’ve never reacted to anyone the way I do him. Not even Christopher. Not in the beginning. Not ever. The idea of it is enough to send me running in the other direction, but there’s a huge part of me that desperately doesn’t want that.
Just this once, I want to take something for myself.
“It’s possible he saw something,” Grafton murmurs, oblivious to my internal meltdown. “Have you asked him?”
I grimace. “Not outright,” I confess. “I don’t want him to feel like he is in the middle. Christopher is his father, right?”
