Page 62 of Book Club Confidential

Devin nodded. “I heard they’re great. Are you dating again?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“It’s because you work too much,” their dad said. “You should go out more. You’re only young and beautiful for a little while. Eventually, we all end up looking like wilted lettuce and shaped like turnips.”

Tessa wrinkled her nose. “Ew.”

Devin shifted, leaning in their dad’s direction. “She’s right. That was gross, and I’m a little uncomfortable with vegetable references.”

Tessa laughed, and Devin’s smile grew, the way it had when they were kids. He’d loved to make people laugh.

“Well,” she said, turning her attention back to Dad. “Don’t worry about me too much. After being passed over for the promotion, I made some big decisions. I’m not working as many hours anymore, and I’m thinking about what’s in my best interest more often.”

Dad smiled. “That’s what I like to hear. Is your boss okay with you cutting back?”

Her spine straightened. “He should be. A former client came in last week and asked for me, personally, to work on his new campaign, which will be a pretty big one.” She glanced at Devin. “He’s really kind and very cute.”

Her brother’s responding nod sent a wave of hope up from her core. Maybe they could get back to the siblings they were, or some altered version.

“Not a client,” her dad said, waving a fork above his pasta. “You can’t date someone you work with. That’s a recipe for disaster. And probably grounds for firing. You’d better be careful on that one.”

“A recipe for disaster?” Devin asked. “These food references are getting out of control.”

Tessa offered her brother an appreciative look.

After dinner, she insisted on cleaning up. It was the least she could do.

Dad moved onto the patio, where he’d promised to light another fire in the pit if the wind had died down.

Devin didn’t follow him. Instead, he joined her at the sink, then opened the dishwasher to help load it. “I used to hate this chore.”

“I remember,” she said. “While we did dishes I’d unload all of my high school drama that you didn’t care about onto your middle school brain, and you’d tell me about the eighth-grade sports scene.”

Devin offered a crooked smile. “I cared about your drama,” he said. “I didn’t say so, because I was a thirteen-year-old boy, but I cared, because you cared, and you’re my sister.”

Tessa turned off the water and looked into Devin’s eyes with effort. The eight or more inches between them in height caused her to step back a little. “Well, for what it’s worth, I cared about your sports stuff too.”

“I know,” he said. “You came to every game, and when you couldn’t, you’d tell me a thousand times to go out there and kick ass. Then I’d find little notes in my gym bag, reminding me I was unstoppable.”

She grinned, unexpectedly emotional again. “I was very proud of you,” she admitted. “I was an only child until you showed up, and I really liked being a big sister.”

He nodded, then turned away, focused on the dishwasher. “How are Hallie and Kate?”

Tessa sucked in a short breath, stunned by the sudden change of the subject. “Good.”

“I follow them on Instagram,” he said. “Since the first time we met. I was still in high school, I think. Kate’s really gotten popular. Is she single?”

“You cannot date Kate,” Tessa said. She added a long silent stare to underscore the statement.

He laughed and closed the dishwasher, then he leaned against the counter. “I like what she’s doing with her image in her posts the past few days,” he said. “She looks more like how I remember her. Softer and less serious, bubbly even. She used to be so excitable. It was funny to see you together, because you’re so—”

“Careful how you finish that sentence,” she warned, running a dishrag under the hot stream of water.

“Serious,” he said. “You went from being a teenage drama queen to some kind of forty-year-old Karen after Mom died.”

Tessa dropped the rag into the sink, feeling the invisible slap well enough to expect a mark.

“I’m not complaining,” he said. “We all changed. But it felt like losing a mom and a sister.”