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Charlie looked mortified as I sat across from her, the furthest away from her mother I could manage.
“I’ll serve you up some grub,” Reece said with a smile, grabbing my plate from in front of me and hurrying over to the kitchen where the trays of food sat with their tops peeled back.
“So,” I looked across the table at Charlie and her parents. “How was the trip? Not too bad, I hope?”
Her mother put the fork she’d been poking at her food with and lifted her nose. “It was absolutely appalling what they’ve allowed air-travel to become. What happened to the days of customer service, that’s what I want to know?”
Charlie nodded along, as if a lack of customer service was the real problem with the world.
Mrs. Winston picked up her fork and speared a single pea, and then another and another, until she had five on the tines of her fork, and then she proceeded to eat them without ever letting her lips touch the fork. As if she was preserving her perfect lipstick or something equally ludicrous.
Then she looked over sharply at her husband. “Bernie, for God’s sakes, don’t play with your food. You know I hate that. Either commit or cover the plate with your napkin.”
I watched Bernie to see if he’d tell his wife to fuck off but I had the feeling—
Bernie nodded and picked up his napkin, covering the plate dutifully with it and then putting his hands in his lap.
Yep. It was just what I thought.
I looked down at my food uncomfortably.
I cut into my rosemary chicken. And my hand shook.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t bring myself to lift the goddamned bite of chicken to my mouth.
Forcing my eyes shut, I dropped my fork back down to the plate and looked around the table, reaching instead for the glass of wine that had been poured for every place setting. But I swore I felt Mrs. Winston’s eyes on my uneaten bite of chicken. Which was fucking ridiculous.
When I tried to key back into the conversation, I could only focus on bits and pieces of what Charlie was rambling on about.
“The boys are doing such impressive work with the ranch… Yield of calves this fall was impressive for taking on the ranch so recently… Jer and Reece are lucky to work so close, they’ve never been separated their whole lives…”
It wasn’t true. Reece and I had been separated for six weeks once.
Six weeks that I never talked about to anybody.
Ever.
“Bernie,” Mrs. Winston’s harsh voice rang out. “Look what you’ve done now.” All eyes at the table zoomed in to watch her spit on her cloth napkin and then start to scrub at his tie where he had dripped some wine.
“I swear,” she laughed to everyone else at the table, “I can’t take this one anywhere. He’d tie his own shoes together if I wasn’t there to help.”
Bernie’s shoulders slumped as he submitted to his wife’s ministrations.
I shot up from the table, taking everyone’s gaze off of the humiliated Mr. Winston. “I think I will go get cleaned up after all. I apologize if that means missing the rest of this truly succulent meal.” I looked toward Charlie. “Your hospitality, as always, is warm and appreciated. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I hoped she could read my sincerity. And also that no one present could sense the slowly rising panic as I turned and all but fled the suffocating room that had suddenly grown full with memories.
Memories of a time I’d tried so very hard to forget.
Chapter Eleven
RUTH
Another big day, and one that I didn’t imagine I’d be able to find any time to sneak away with a certain hunky twin for forbidden pony play in the stable. Even the memory had me tingling as I met with Charlie and her obnoxious mother for breakfast the next morning. I mean, her father was there, but he faded into the background so much that he may as well not have been, apart from the occasionally cutting comments his wife sent his way. But Charlie just ignored them, so I did too.
Luckily, her mother watched the Today Show religiously because Hoda and Savannah were just her favorites, so we were off the hook for a couple hours.
I got started preparing the food for the day in the half-finished kitchen while Charlie napped with her head down on the counter. Poor girl. She’d been running like a chicken with its head cut off for Lord knew how many weeks now. Ever since they’d gotten engaged a month and a half ago.
