“You’re being a miserable fuck.”
“Grady Malone. That is no way to talk at the dinner table,” my mom says, shooting him a scowl that can make any one of us shrink.
“He kind of is, though,” Grant chimes in.
I glare at both of them and then tip my Coke back and make sure my middle finger is front and center, so they get the point.
“Is there trouble in Sidney-ville?” Grady asks as he scoots back to avoid the quick kick to his shin I just missed.
And despite my mom’s ears perking up like a damn jackrabbit at the sound of Sidney’s name, she says, “Leave him alone.”
“We fought.” It comes out of my mouth without thinking, but I’ve been sitting on it and stewing about it for the better part of a day, and the longer I keep silent, the more I feel like a jackass for the things I said to her.
“Best part about fighting is the make-up sex,” Grant says as he eyes Emerson. Her response is a swift swat to the back of the head before she presses a kiss there and takes off to make sure their girls haven’t gotten into too much trouble with Luke.
“What did you fight about?”
“Drop it, Grady,” I say.
“You’re the one who brought it up.” He shrugs and grins at me over his beer. “Did you finally tell her you want more than just slipping and sliding and she said screw you?”
We all burst out laughing at the look on our mom’s face, and she just shakes her head.
“Not quite.”
“Oh.” The chorus rings out around the table, and Dylan twists her lips as she stares at me.
“Let me guess, you told her there was nothing there when there is.”
“Not exactly—”
“Can I just call it now? He’s trying to sabotage it because she’s actually a keeper, and that scares the fuck out of him,” Grant says with a sarcastic edge that has me clenching my fists and my mom patting my arm to calm me down.
“Hey, Grant? Stay the fuck out of my—”
“Look who I found at the store!” My dad’s voice cuts me off and has everyone turning toward the patio door.
Every part of me falls at the sight of her. She looks nothing like the girl I saw the other day on the street with her friend. She has on jean shorts, a red tank top, and red Converse. Her hair is piled on top of her head, and her face is completely free of makeup.
She steals my fucking breath is what she does.
Our eyes meet. Hold. And I hate the hurt that flickers through hers. The hurt that I put there.
A chorus of greetings ring out, but I just nod, needing to say so much to her but scared to fucking death to form the words. I know that if I do, all I’ll be doing is opening myself to more hurt.
To more of everything I swore I’d never allow myself to feel again.
“Shit, Gray,” Grant whispers as he leans in to my ear, “beg, borrow, and steal, but don’t let that walk away, especially when she looks at you like that.”
“Fuck off,” I mutter under my breath as Sidney is pushed into my family with introductions. I wait to see if she shrieks when Moose comes up and puts a wet nose against her hand.
She doesn’t.
I study the looks on my sisters-in-law’s faces as they meet her because women are judgmental and an approval from them goes a long way.
They approve.
“She was walking in when I was walking out, and I thought she might like to have some company.”
“How noble of you,” I mutter to myself, knowing damn well my mom and her matchmaking skills are starting to rub off on my old man.
I get a glare of a rebuke from my mother and then just shake my head, telling her I’m confused as fuck about what to do.
“She said she had been looking for Gray so she could give him some good news. That he must be so busy he isn’t returning her calls,” my dad says, and I see Grady shake his head in my periphery.
Yeah. Yeah. I’m a disgrace. I get it.
“What’s the good news?” This comes from my mom, who has graciously taken a break from mapping out my and Sidney’s wedding, honeymoon, and first three children together.
“You’re a finalist. You made the top five.” I know she’s addressing me, and I let the cheer go up around the table. I grit my teeth at the pats on my back and let them distract me from meeting her eyes because . . . fuck, Grant’s right. She looks goddamn gorgeous as she stands with my family. Fitting in when I don’t think I want her to. Think being the operative word.
“Calm down, guys. It’s just a popularity contest,” I say and roll my eyes.
“No, it isn’t,” Dylan interjects. “It’s a beefcake contest, and you’re grade-A prime.”
Grady turns his head to spit out his beer because he’s laughing too hard to swallow it. “See why I married her?” he says of his wife. “She gives as good as you fuckers.”
“Grady.” A warning by our mom that gets completely ignored. “You’ll have to excuse the manners of my boys. They seem to have reverted back to second grade for some reason.”
“It’s fine. I promise you I’ve heard the F-word before,” Sidney whispers and winks, a smile warming on her lips.
“Sit. Drink,” my mom says as she wraps her arms around her in a motherly welcome and then ushers her to the table. “Food will be cooked shortly.”
“Thank you. I feel bad, though. This was so unexpected, I should have brought something to contribute to the meal.”
“Nonsense. The more the merrier, I say.” Mom is clearly in her entertaining element. “I’ll grab you a chair.”
And she does. She grabs a chair while Sidney stands there awkwardly and waits to see where she puts it. Of course, she positions it right next to me.
“Hey,” I murmur but don’t look her way. Every single one of the people sitting at this table can read how I feel about her clear as day, but that doesn’t mean I want her to as well.
“Hi,” Sidney says as she takes a seat and accepts the beer my dad offers her.
A beer.
Sidney drinks beer?
“I tried to get out of this,” she murmurs under her breath. “The last thing I wanted to do was make you uncomfortable.”
Now I feel like more of a dick.
“It’s fine.”
“Do you think my boy here really has a shot at winning?” my father asks.
“Jesus, Dad,” I mutter as Grady and Grant begin the catcalls.
“You’re the ones who signed him up,” Sidney says with a shake of her head. “You don’t get to talk shi—crap now.” She blanches as the kids giggle down on the lawn.
“No worries,” Grant says. “Sadly, they’ve probably heard it more times than they should have.”
Small talk ensues. The weather. The kids. The influx of tourists to Sunnyville for the harvesting season.
My attention is on Sidney, even though I still refuse to look at her.
How she interacts with my family. How she slips right into the conversation as if she’s always belonged. How Luke comes and sits on her lap and she wraps her hands around his waist and rests her chin on his shoulder. How, every so often, she’ll say something that makes him giggle.
All the while, I sit and brood and watch and listen, trying to figure out how this all fits into my life.
If it could.
If I want it to.
It always comes back to how I’ve already been left once, and I refuse to put Luke or myself in the position to be left again.
And then the focus turns back to Sidney.
“So why journalism?” Emerson asks as she leans forward, hands propped under her chin, eyes kind and genuinely interested.
“Probably for the same reason you all do what you do. It’s a passion. I love helping to tell stories or be part of the narrative.”
“But a parenting magazine?”
She looks down to the label of her bottle and then back up with a smile. “Fashion is where I’d like to end up in the future. Being an editor of a fashion magazine is my dream job.” She shrugs. “What can I say? The opportunity came up to help save the magazine, and I took it.”
“That’s wonderful, dear. And when the contest is over? Do you have other plans for the magazine? Will you be moving on to an editor position?” My mom fishes as my brothers glance at each other.
Sidney looks at me and then my mom and draws in a shaky breath.
She doesn’t need this shit. The Malone inquisition.
And neither do I.
Without caring what my family thinks, I shove my chair back abruptly and stand. “Can I speak with you inside for a moment?”
Sidney’s flustered by my request, that much I can tell, but she makes a quick apology to everyone at the table and follows me into the house. I head for the living room—the farthest room from where everyone sits on the patio—and wait for the squeak of her shoes on the hardwood floors to come to a stop.