Page 102 of The Difference Between

We’re playing mahjong.

At a barbecue restaurant.

With a gaggle of pastel-covered ladies ogling Gavin.

Who’s in a suit.

With a face I want to lick like one of Matt’s lollipops.

We’re assigned to one of the tables along with Jan, Dawn, and Carol, who offer us a glass of wine, which I decline.

“The company Reese works for just bought Glass of Vine,” Gavin announces to the group. This triggers a new buzz of conversation around his mom’s new house in town and the soft reopening of the vineyard. “Running it all by herself right now.”

“And Banyan,” I correct. Though I’m not sure how I feel about that.

Questions are directed to me about the future of a vineyard being bought by a private equity firm so far away.

“Um.” I take a bite of pulled pork. “Undecided really. Get it to run itself and go from there and see.” That’s not right. “We’ll find a potential buyer in three to five years when we can turn a profit.”

The ladies nod like this is the sort of thing that happens in Fontain all the time.

Gavin scoops slaw onto his fork, pausing briefly to ask, “What’s the name of the firm again?”

The ladies look at me expectantly.

I wipe my mouth. “The Rutledge Group.”

“Hm.” He takes another bite, eying me a beat before answering a question Carol asks.

We finish our food, drinks are refilled, and a declaration is made that we have five minutes until start time. Because only four can play and I don’t know what’s going on, Gavin and I are partners.

Partners, apparently, who have to share a single chair.

Gavin sits, knees wide, jacket open, and a wolfish grin on his face as he pats his leg.

Oh, hell no. “I’m not sitting on your lap.”

“Why not?” Dawn says without looking up from the tiles she’s shuffling.

“Yeah,” Gavin teases. “Why not, Reese?”

Dawn looks up long enough to wiggle her brows. “If I were ten years younger . . .”

She has to be at least seventy.

Carol pipes in with, “And we can’t put two chairs over there. You’ll be able to see the other racks. Cheating won’t be tolerated, I don’t care what Gavin’s wearing.” When I think she’s done: “Unless he takes his shirt off.”

I almost tell her about the happy trail.

“I don’t cheat,” I say, fully offended.

Carol eyes me as she swallows a sip of wine. “We don’t know that.”

“What’s wrong?” Gavin settles back in the chair. “You scared of my lap?”

I glare at him then perch on his knee, as far away from his suit, sexy new face, and young, hard body as I can get.

Until he sits upright and closes the space between us. His face is at my shoulder and one arm wraps around my waist. When I jerk away from him, his grip tightens on me like a Chinese finger trap.