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I pause when I see her expression.
“Come on,” I say, nudging the strap of my bag off her slim shoulder, trying to ignore the fact that I can feel the heat of her skin even through her T-shirt. “Surely at fifty bucks a night you weren’t expecting anything more.”
“No,” she says with a cheerful little smile. “It’s just…someday, Reece. Someday…”
I stiffen, freezing for a split second as I sling my bag over my own shoulder. Someday. It’s so her.
She’s always been more obsessed with someday than today.
It’s a game she used to love, starting back when we were kids, taking turns with far-off dreams.
Someday, I’ll get my braces off.
Someday, I’ll have my first kiss.
Someday, I’ll tell my family about us.
Someday, we’ll do this in a bigger bed.
Someday, I’ll be the darling of Napa.
“Someday what?” I snap, wondering how much bigger and more precocious her dreams have become.
“Someday, we’ll drop the Mercedes off at valet at a four-star resort, mints on the pillow and champagne chilling.”
Lucy smiles up at me, a little shy and a lot happy, her face so damn expectant it feels like a kick in the nuts.
“As I thought,” I snap. “You’re more of a snob now than you were at eighteen.”
I brush past her, jerking the flimsy door open.
“Reece?” her voice is tentative, a little hurt.
I turn back, meet her eyes. “You know the biggest flaw with your latest someday scenario?” I ask, letting a sneer curl my lip. “There might be a fancy hotel in your future, maybe even the Mercedes, but there sure as hell is not, and will never be, a we.”
I step out into the bright sunshine, not waiting for a response as I slam the door behind me.
Why bother?
Whatever things we might have needed to say to each other once don’t matter anymore.
Chapter 11
LUCY, NINE, REECE, TEN
“This is stupid. I want to play baseball.”
“You can’t,” Lucy told her brother as she adjusted the doily atop her head. “Mom said you have to play with me and Brandi since it’s her birthday.”
Five-year-old Brandi nodded. “And I want to play wedding.”
Ten-year-old Craig sighed with big-brother exasperation. “If you’re going to play wedding, shouldn’t you want to be the bride?”
Brandi scowled at him from where she stood on top of a beat-up cooler to bring her up to her playmates’ heights. “The bride is boring. I want to be the pastor.”
“Fine,” Craig said, kicking at a tuft of grass. “But why do I have to be the usher?”
“Well you can’t be the groom, because Spock’s the bride, and sisters can’t marry brothers,” Brandi said with impeccable little-kid logic.
