I grab my coat from the hooks by the door. “Thanks,” I mumble.
He’s more chatty on the drive than I expected. He tells me he’s known Cole for years, that he was in the worst hole of his life a few years ago, and that his now-wife, Dana, and his son, Drew, inspired him to get clean. He tells me a few of their friends, Jackson and Mandy, are coming, and Jackson’s friend Wade and his wife, Ray, are driving down from their ski resort. He tellsme that this is casual and private, that we don’t need to hide anything in front of them.
“Are you expecting me to just blurt out that you fucked me last night?” I ask, glancing over at him as the bars for a gated community open in front of his Aston Martin.
His jaw ticks. “No. I just meant that we can relax.”
I brace myself for something that feels like the stress of a networking event as we park up in front of the house.To my utter surprise, I am wrong immediately.
When the door opens, a broad-shouldered man in jeans and a flannel grins and pulls Grayson into a one-armed hug.
“Gray. Was starting to think you weren’t coming.”
“Fuck off, you knew I was.” Grayson claps him on the back. “Happy two years, man.”
That must be Cole.
He steps back from Grayson’s hold and looks at me with open curiosity and immediate warmth before his eyes flick to Grayson, just for a second. “You must be Carly.”
I blink.He knows my name?“I am."
“I’ve heardsomuch about you. Nice to put a face to the name.”
Oh, god. For half a second, I wonder if that means he’s heardbadthings— but it clicks. No, no, not bad things. Grayson’s beenventing.
“Cole,” Grayson says, flat. “Shut your mouth.”
I shouldn’t laugh but one comes out anyway, and I cover it with my hand instinctually.Cole grins wider, clearly pleased with himself, and ushers us inside the house.
It’s about the same size as Grayson’s, warm, rustic in a way that Grayson’s isn’t. It feels more like a luxury château than a modern mansion, and it’s cosy, lived in, evidence of at least one child living here by the toys hidden in corners.
A woman with lightly tanned skin and brown hair intercepts us in the entryway before I can fully get my bearings. She’s beautiful in that glowy, slightly sleep-deprived mom way, a tiny baby tucked against her chest in a wrap. “Hi,” she says, smiling at me like we’re already friends. “I’m Dana. And this is Lucy.”
Her baby is absolutely adorable. She’s wearing a pink little hat, her cheeks round, her skin still a little wrinkly but starting to pudge out. She’s wide awake, but content, for now.
“Oh my God,” I whisper. “She’s perfect.”
Dana softens instantly. “I know. Don’t tell my two-year-old I said that.”
“Where is Drew?” Grayson asks, stepping up behind me, and I stiffen for just a second as his hand brushes the small of my back. “This is Carly, by the way, since she is apparently too dazzled with your daughter to introduce herself.”
I blink, then shoot him a glare. “I was getting to it.”
“Drew is with his nanny for the evening,” Dana says, lifting Lily’s arm to wave at me. I melt. “Which means this is the first gathering we’ve hosted in two years where no one will scream over chicken nuggets.”
“Give it time,” Cole says from somewhere behind us. “Reckon it’ll be Jackson or Gray having a meltdown that we haven’t cooked any.”
There are maybe a dozen people here. There are no stiff introductions, no performative congratulations —just food spread out over the kitchen counters, non-alcoholic drinks in people’s hands, and laughter.
I meet Jackson, who somehow manages to look both intimidating and deeply entertained at all times, and Mandy, who is instantly my favorite because she compliments my sweater and steals a deviled egg off a passing tray. “Ignore the billionaire energy. They travel in packs,” she whispers to me.
“I heard that,” Jackson says.
“You’re annoyingly attentive,” she shoots back.
Wade arrives ten minutes later, his wife, Ray, on his arm. He shakes my hand when Grayson introduces me, and he immediately asks if I ski.
“Uh,” I say, trying to process the immediate and random question.
