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“I was talking to my mom.”
Presley bit down a grin. “That confirms it.”
“What?” She turned to look at him. His gaze was fond. She knew he wasn’t trying to bait her. Just… interested. And maybe a little protective.
Like that time when she couldn’t get a date for the spring dance freshman year and found out that he and Marley had ‘spoken’ to a few of the guys who’d wanted to ask her out.
“Your mom and dad went to the drive in tonight.”
Oh damn, they had. She’d forgotten that.
“And I know for a fact thatGhostis your mom’s favorite. There’s no way she’d call you during that.”
“Okay it wasn’t my mom. Can we change the subject now?” She rolled her eyes at him.
“You can tell me who he is,” Presley told her. “I won’t breathe a word to anybody else.”
“I can’t.” She shook her head. “Not yet.”
His brows dipped. “Why not yet?”
“It’s complicated,” she told him. “Why don’t we talk about something else? Like the way you and Cassie sang together tonight.”
“What about the way we sang? Was it okay?”
“It was hot. Like steaming. Is there something going on with you two?” Turning the tables on her cousin felt like the best way to protect herself.
“No.” He shook his head vehemently. “There’s nothing.”
“She likes you,” Grace told him.
“She’s a bandmate. Nothing more.” He looked over at her, his brows knitting. Cassie was leaning to whisper something in Alex’s ear.
“Okay then. So I’m not hiding anything and you’re not interested in Cassie. Got it.” Grace smiled smugly, glad that she’d gotten the conversation away from her.
“Grace.” He lifted a brow. But at least her telephone conversation was forgotten
She wrinkled her nose and blew him a kiss. “Good night, Presley. I’m taking Sabrina home now.”
* * *
“Say it again,” her dad asked, his brows knitting as she sat at the kitchen table with her family the next day. Her mom had invited her for Sunday lunch, and since she had nothing else to do, she’d agreed.
She was glad she had. There was no point sitting at home missing Michael. So much better to be busy.
And to be teasing her dad.
Grace’s gaze met her mom’s. She could see her mom was biting down a smile. Her dad was an intelligent, talented, handsome man, but he was horrible with languages.
“C'est un plaisir de faire affaire avec vous,” Grace said, the words rolling off her tongue. “But honestly, Dad, they’ll speak English. Just say it was a pleasure to work with them.”
“I’m not speaking English when I’m in France.”
“You will be,” her mom said, her eyes crinkling. “Otherwise you’ll starve.”
“Okay. So the meetings will mostly be in English, but I’d like to start and end them with at least an attempt at their language. It’s polite. If I keep practicing for the next few weeks maybe I’ll pull it off.”
Her brother pulled his phone out of his pocket.
