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“And if I recall correctly, you were in his corner all throughout high school,” I said bitterly.
“Because he wasn’t an asshole in high school,” Jane said.
“Can we just stop? Look, I’m sorry. Grant, it’s great you’re back in town. But I didn’t realize you were coming to this little pow-wow of ours. And I’m not—”
The waitress set another drink in front of me. I gulped it down before she even left the table.
“So can we talk about something else? Anything else?” I asked. “I feel like an idiot for not doing something about this sooner. And since Grant is here, we should find out what’s been going on in his life since Dad chased him out of our house.”
I knew the bitterness was heavy in my voice, but I didn’t care. The alcohol was loosening my lips, and I had no intentions of playing down how good it was to be in Grant’s presence again. If this was a fresh start, then I wanted to keep moving forward.
“Why are you here anyway?” Jane asked.
“Hollis invited me,” Grant said.
“No, I mean why are you back in town?”
“He needed a break from his business,” Hollis said. “Apparently, running your own bajillion-dollar construction conglomerate gets rough.”
My eyes fluttered up to Grant’s, and he panned his gaze over to mine.
“You have your own business?” I asked.
“I do.”
“What’s it called?”
“Second Wind Construction,” he said.
“Anyone need another beer? I need another beer,” Hollis said.
“I could use one,” Grant said.
“Me, too,” Jane said.
I threw back my third drink and handed the glass to Hollis. He eyed me carefully before shrugging his shoulders, then he disappeared into the growing crowd. I could feel the warmth of the alcohol flooding my veins, and suddenly I was painfully aware of the way Grant was looking at me.
I avoided his gaze, but I also felt something creeping closer to me underneath the table.
“Okay, now that he’s gone. Why are you really here?” Jane asked.
“He told you. My business is—”
“I might look dumb, but I’m not,” Jane said.
“Jane, calm down,” I said.
“I want to know why Grant’s popped back up on the radar. Why can’t I know that?”
“Because you always think there’s a story when there’s not. It’s the journalist in you.”
“So you’re a writer?” Grant asked.
“Yep. Work for the town newspaper. Full time.”
“Impressive. Do you do P.R. work?”
“I can,” she said.
