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“Anytime,” Ethan said, a smile warming his voice. She finally pulled her eyes away from Michael’s. “Are you okay?” Ethan asked her.
“I’m fine, why?”
“I thought you were hungry or something.” He chuckled. “You keep looking over at the grill.”
“I forgot to eat breakfast,” she told him. “And I didn’t have time for lunch.” At least that wasn’t a lie. After riding Arcadia, then cleaning him and his stable out, she’d only just had time to shower before she came over here.
“Let me get you some food before you faint,” Ethan said.
“You don’t need to. I can wait.” She grabbed his wrist to stop him and he looked down at it, smiling.
“Come on then, let’s go sit down instead,” he urged, pointing at the chairs where her cousins were now sitting, drinking their own beers and talking about the game they all went to see last night.
“Okay.” She nodded, taking one last look at the older generation. Michael wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was smiling at a woman she didn’t recognize – one of her aunt’s friends, maybe?
For a moment she imagined walking over there, sliding her arm around his waist as he carried on talking.
But she didn’t. Instead, she let Ethan lead her to the chairs, helping her sit down before taking the one next to her, slinging his hand across the back of hers as though he was making a statement.
Her brother lifted a brow at her, as if to ask her what was going on. She shook her head, because it was nothing. Just Ethan doing his thing. He’d been the same when they went to prom. Proprietorial.
If she was annoyed, she’d pull her chair away, but honestly, she couldn’t be bothered. And at least it would put anybody off the scent of her and Michael.
That’s what they both wanted, wasn’t it? For nobody to find out?
If Ethan wanted to be overeager, let him. Michael couldn’t complain she wasn’t holding up her side of the bargain.
ChapterSeven
The cookout wasin full swing as the sun slowly slid down toward the mountain line in the distance. Michael rubbed his face with the heel of his hands. His eyelids felt heavy. But he wasn’t sure he could sleep even if his mom’s backyard wasn’t full of people.
Over on the other side of the yard, the cousins – his cousins if you didn’t care about blood – were getting rowdier. Tequila was flowing, somebody was playing guitar, and his little sister and one of the younger cousins were dancing around the fire they’d built.
Next to him, his mom yawned and stretched her arms.
“It’s late,” he said softly to her. “You want me to tell them all to go home?” He glanced at the fire pit and then away again.
“I’m okay,” his mom said, touching his arm with her warm palm. Someone at the firepit squealed and Michael shook his head. “They’re having fun,” his mom said. “Let them be. And I’m fine. I’ll just disappear. No need for anybody to go home yet.”
“Won’t the neighbors be fed up with all the noise?” he asked her.
She laughed, shaking her still-blonde hair. “The neighbors are all here. And anyway, the closest one is a half-mile away.” She slid her hand into his and squeezed it. “I’m so happy you’re here.”
“I’m happy, too. Now let me walk you back to the house.” He was worried she was overdoing it.
She patted his hand. “It’s okay, Cam will walk me in. You stay and enjoy yourself.”
He wasn’t sure if that was the right description. Keeping his face neutral and not reacting to Grace was more of an endurance than an enjoyment.
“And anyway, you’re doing enough by taking me to the hospital on Monday.” She looked happy about that. He’d done the right thing by offering to be her chauffeur for her treatment. Her outpatient appointments would be short, but the hospital was two hours away, so it was a long journey for her.
Cam walked over and offered her his arm, and Michael kissed his mom’s cheek and wished her goodnight. He took a sip of his beer, but it was doing nothing for him.
And then there was another burst of laughter from the crowd of cousins by the firepit. Grace was standing on the edge of them all, a smile playing on her lips.
Her smooth face was lit orange by the fire, her glossy dark hair was tumbling down her back, the same way it was that night in New York. She’d been wearing a pair of rolled up shorts and a cropped t-shirt all day, but now she was also wearing a hoodie. It was too big for her. The sleeves were rolled up and the hem almost covered her shorts, so it looked like she was wearing nothing else.
He disliked that hoodie intensely. Mostly because he knew who it belonged to. That guy who’d been following her around all day. Touching her. Talking to her. Bringing her food.
