Page 70 of Playing for Keeps

Emma shook her head a little. “Grace, please. There’s nothing to be sorry for. You were just looking out for your brother. I get it.”

Grace’s face relaxed. “Thanks, Emma. I really shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.”

“It’s all right,” Emma said gently. “I understand why you reacted the way that you did and I really don’t hold it against you. We’re good.” She flicked water off her fingers and reached for a towel. She then slid past me to the door, her fingers lightly brushing the inside of my wrist. Electricity shot up my arm. I swallowed, thinking, Pull yourself together, man. Fuck.

Grace watched me watch her leave. “You look happy,” she said softly.

I leaned back against the counter, looked at my sister, and didn’t bother to pretend. “Yeah, I really am.”

“I’ve never seen you like this. Not even when you were nineteen and thought that barista with the neck tattoo was your soulmate because she spelled your name with a double X.”

I groaned. “Do not bring up the neck tattoo again.”

Grace’s smile turned tender. “How are you doing? Really.”

I rubbed my jaw, looking for something that didn’t sound like a cliché. “It feels… easy. And big. I didn’t think big and easy could go together, but here we are. I keep waiting to screw it up. And I know she might leave, and I’d be an idiot to pretend I didn’t hear that clock ticking, but I can’t not be with her because of a hypothetical. I can’t make it smaller just to make it hurt less later.”

“You know I’m going to tell you to be careful, right?”

“I know.”

“And you also know you can’t be careful with some things.”

“I know that too.”

She stepped in and nudged my shoulder with hers. “Then you do what you always do when it matters. You keep your head up and your feet moving. And you don’t let the fear of the end stop you from playing the shift you’re in.”

I snorted. “You been stealing my coach’s speeches?”

“I’m a mom,” she said. “Occupational hazard.”

We finished loading the dishwasher. Grace wiped her hands, leaned a hip against the counter and looked at me for another long second. “She really is wonderful,” she said.

“I know,” I said, not at all surprised at how sure I sounded.

“Okay. Go sit down before Aidan gets so impatient that he lights his own cake.”

I found Emma curled up in a corner of the couch. She looked up and scooted over, making room for me to slide in next to her. As she leaned back against my chest, I wrapped my arm around her, my hand resting on her thigh, warm through the soft fabric of her dress. It felt so comfortable that I couldn’t resist kissing her temple. She squeezed my hand, and I smiled into her hair.

She settled against me like it was the most natural thing in the world, and for a second it hit me how good it felt. Too good. And of course that’s when my stupid brain chose that exact moment to replay Grace’s words about Mom. I shoved it down. Not now. Not here.

In the armchair across from us, one of Aidan’s friends was telling Lucy and Lucas a story about a turtle that crossed an entire golf course just to eat someone’s sandwich. The kids were riveted. Lucy’s face looked sceptical but delighted, and Lucas had already made up his mind that this was how he would live his life from now on.

The kitchen door swung open and Grace came out with a cake big enough to feed a small village. Candles were flickering on top as she set it down on the coffee table.

“Me!” Lucas blurted out, already bouncing in place. “I get to blow them out!”

“Me,” Lucy said, loud and clear. “You did it last year, so we alternate.”

Lucas frowned. “Alternate?”

“Take turns,” she translated, sighing heavily.

Aidan jumped in. “Teamwork, people. On three. And no spitting. Your mother will revoke your cake privileges.”

Grace raised her eyebrows. “True.”

“One,” Aidan said. “Two. Three!”