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She’s about to tell me not to indulge every fanciful whim her daughter comes up with.
“I’ve been thinking about extending the branch of my business that focuses on kids’ items,” I half-life.
It’s been an idea that has been smoldering in the deepest recesses of my mind for months, but I haven’t given it the level of thought it deserves.
“I’ll snap a few pictures of it without Stevie’s face in view, of course.” I wink at Stevie. “Privacy is important.”
Stevie nods. “Very important.”
“I can post it on my Etsy store and take some custom orders.”
“That’s smart,” Stevie adds her two cents. “Keats would say it makes good business sense.”
“You’re sure?” Astrid asks with skepticism edging her tone. “A dress like that is a huge commitment.”
“I’m sure.” I shift my attention to Stevie. “We’ll work out a time for you to come over for a measurement session, okay?”
“I’ll be there.” Her gaze wanders over my shoulder to the entrance to the kitchen. “He’s here! My interview subject is finally here!”
I don’t need to turn to know who is standing behind me. I can sense he’s near. My nipples harden under the green cardigan I’m wearing. I run my palms over the denim covering my thighs, and then I finally glance over my shoulder.
“Hey, Astrid,” Gaines greets her first. “It’s good to see you again, Eloise.”
The warmth that was in his voice last night is gone, but it’s there in his gaze as he locks eyes with me.
“You brought me flowers again?” Stevie asks with genuine surprise in her tone. “I wrote you a thank you card for the last time you did that. I’ll run and get it.”
She takes off in a sprint, and with a last glance in my direction, Gaines turns and follows her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Gaines
Another family dinnerequals another opportunity for me to stare at Eloise, this time from across a much more crowded room.
The last time we were in this brownstone together, there were only five us present.
This dining room feels stifling now, with all these extra bodies separating me from the one body I want my hands on.
“Do you want some green beans?” Stevie asks from where she’s sitting next to me. “You keep looking at those beans over there by Eloise. Spoiler alert. They’re not my favorite.”
A chorus of laughter fills the dining room.
Sinclair plucks the bowl from the table and sends it down the row of people between us.
Keats gets his hands on it before Berk does, and then finally Stevie hands it off to me.
“Mom says if I eat ten that’s good enough,” she whispers. “I’ll create a distraction so you only need to shove five into your mouth. Are you ready?”
Letting that sink in, I chuckle. “Sure. Go for it.”
She clears her throat and stands. “A poem by Stevie Morgan.”
Keats shoots her a look. “So, you’re using Morgan again? What happened to you being just Stevie?”
Her hands drop to her hips. “What happened to you being polite when someone is sharing a poem?”
Their back and forth bickering is legendary. I may have earned a slice of that little girl’s heart, but her uncle will always own the majority of it.
