But if it isn’t about me, what the hell is going on?
I don’t want to wait any longer to pull Knox aside and get to the bottom of what’s going on. He’s hurting. It’s no small thing.
“Are you still planning to come to my Fourth of July party?” Mr. Steele asks my parents.
I’m not sure why, but his question gets my attention. Both our families used to celebrate that long weekend together every year when Knox and I were younger, and after Knox’s parents passed, Morris kept up the tradition. But everything changed after Knox went off to college. I haven’t spent time in the Hamptons since.
“Of course,” Dad says. “We wouldn’t miss it for anything. Any invite to get out of the city for that long weekend is a welcome one.” He turns to Mom. “It’ll save us a three-hour trip to our cottage in the Poconos, wouldn’t it honey?”
She gives an animated nod. “It’ll be fabulous. We’ll be there.”
Considering that I haven’t been to one of these weekends in years, I’m not sure whether or not to assume I’m included in the invite. I’m not about to hold my breath for one either.
“Great,” Morris says, picking up his menu. “Looking forward to seeing you all there.” He turns his face and meets my eyes. “Maybe this’ll be the year you’ll start coming again, Isabelle?”
So much for not holding my breath.
I glance over at Knox next to me, hoping for some signal as to whether he can bear having me around for an entire weekend. We may have had a casual hookup, and he may be okay with holding my hand for a few minutes, but that in no way means our friendship is back to where it used to be. I have no idea where we stand. “Thanks for the invitation, Mr. Steele. I’ll have to check my calendar and let you know.”
“Sounds great. You’re more than welcome, so even if you can’t now, and plans change for you on the weekend, just come on down.”
“I appreciate that.”
The server arrives to take our orders, and once he leaves our tables, Dad and Mr. Steele resume their talk. They delve into the usual, business, politics, world events, updates about the families in their circle of friends, and the like. Knox hasn’t let go of my hand,
Something is wrong and it’s time for me to find out what it is.
I lean over to him and whisper for only him to hear, “Can you meet me down the hall in five minutes? I think we should talk.”
He nods, and I take my purse from the floor beside me, excusing myself to use the ladies’ room.
Except I didn’t plan for my mother to take my announcement as an invitation.
“I’ll come with you,” she chirps.
I shoot her a warning look to hint that I’d rather go alone, but she doesn’t catch my drift. Getting to her feet, she links her arm through mine and chatters on nonstop all the way toward the harsh, white fluorescent lights of the ladies’ room. They make me seem about as pale as I feel inside. I stare at myself in the mirror for a moment, wondering if she’ll head back before me.
“He looks good, don’t you think?” Mom asks. I shrug my shoulders. “I always thought it was a shame that you two lost touch. You were always so close.” She opens her clutch and applies lipstick across her mouth, which unfortunately only silences her for a moment. “Your father and I thought for sure that you’d end up together.” I’ve heard all that before, so I don’t say a word, but she persists. “You never told me why you two stopped spending time together. Did something happen?”
“No.” I reply, my voice tight. “And you know it was never like that. We were just friends.”
“Sure, when you were kids, but look at him. Knox is all grown up.” She nudges my arm playfully. “He’s one hell of a man.”
I don’t need my mother talking about Knox like this. My mind needs no help at all to see how my best friend turned out. Not after that night at the party. All I can think about is his strong hands all over my body, the way he felt inside me, his possessive kisses that owned me, his mouth on my bare skin. My cheeks heat and I see the redness spread up from my neck in the mirror. If I keep this up around my mother, she won’t need to hear another word from me. She’ll read all the damn signs my body’s giving off without my permission.
I turn from her and start toward the door. “Don’t get any ideas,” I tell her. “Just… don’t.”
“Why not?”
I push the door open, still avoiding her gaze. “He’s not my type,” I say dismissively.
“What? How can tall, dark, and mysteriously handsome not be any woman’s type?”
“Drop it, Mom. Please.”
“You must be blind. I don’t understand why you insist on staying cooped up and single.”
“Please stop. You’re making a scene.” I groan and turn to face her. “Just leave it alone, will you? It’s not the time or place to—”
My mouth stops mid-sentence at the sight of Knox heading up the hallway toward us. God. Mom won’t be able to contain herself.
“Mom, Knox and I need to talk alone…about Foster,” I
