“Yeah, Greer. Because you’re smart and strong and kicking ass at this job. He’s the new guy in the room, and there’s a lot to live up to.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Are you sucking up to me?”
I spread my hands and grin. “Why would I do that?”
She gives me a look that says she knows I’m full of shit. Some of the things I like best about Greer are that she can read me with a look and that she doesn’t pull punches. Most of the time, those things works in my favor.
This time, though, I rake my hands through my hair and sigh. “I know I’ve been kind of an ass the last few days, and I’m sorry. There’s been a lot on my mind.”
She pauses like she’s waiting for an explanation but is sensitive enough not to pry. I can’t tell her about the job offer that might not be a job offer, about me trying to picture my life without her in it, but I want to give her something. So I give her what I can.
“Sometimes being around family is weird for me.”
“Exactly why I don’t go home for the holidays.”
I snort out a laugh. “Yeah, well, it’s harder to make excuses when you only live twenty minutes away.”
She tilts her head, a concession. “You looked like you did fine to me. You’re like the prodigal son who can do no wrong.”
I feel my mouth twist. “Not quite. Ever since my dad died, I’ve put a lot of pressure on myself.”
“To do what?”
Excellent question. “I don’t know.” I shrug. “To fill in for him. To do more. Be more.”
“But, Locke, you are so amazing. You don’t need to prove anything to anyone.”
It takes me a second to process the compliment, to let myself hear the sound of her voice telling me how good I am. It takes me another second to compose myself after, so I don’t accidentally show how much it means to me.
“Thanks,” is what I say, my voice scraping and dry. Then I clear my throat and try to lighten the mood. “In other news, getting old sucks, and my body’s been acting up on me. So I’m working through that.”
A delicate crease forms between her eyebrows. “Acting up how?” Then her frown flips into a grin. “Getting hair in weird places?”
I burst into a startled laugh. “Not quite.” I shake my head. “Traveling was just rough on my stomach.”
Greer nods, considering. “Maybe you have a food intolerance. Or sensitivity, or whatever.” She shrugs a beautiful, curvy shoulder. “With the way our food supply has consolidated over the years, more and more people are finding out they have issues. Not to spout ‘our food’s all contaminated’ conspiracy theories, or anything, but I hear about them all the time from my roommate. Maybe there’s a simple explanation.”
I gesture at her with a forkful of lettuce. “You might have a point.”
“Why don’t you do one of those mail-in food intolerance tests? Maybe you can get some answers.”
“What would I do without you?” It takes me a second to realize I’ve said it out loud, but Greer rolls with it like I haven’t just confessed how much she means to me.
She reaches across the table and pats my hand. I know she means it in a teasing way, but the touch sends a jolt of electricity through my body. I want to twist my fingers through hers and hold on tight, but when she slides her hand away, I let her go.
“You’d be very, very sad,” she says.
I nod because it’s true. It’s the fucking dilemma of my life, but until I know more about this job, I’m not going to waste the minutes I have left.
I lean back in my chair, trying to be casual even though my palms start to sweat and I feel like a teenager asking a pretty girl to a school dance. “You around tonight?”
Greer squints at me, but a smile flickers on her lips, and I can see in her eyes that she’s going to say yes. “Maybe,” she says. “Why?”
11
Greer
I’m the first to tell you that I’m a grandma when it comes to my bedtime—ahem, my beauty sleep—so I’m as surprised as anyone to be leaving my apartment at eleven o’clock on a Thursday night rather than returning to it. But when Lachlan Mills calls, I come.
God, even saying that in my mind sounds so sexual.
I wish.
I’ve swapped my daytime dress for a pair of dark, tight-fitting jeans and a cream-colored boatneck cashmere sweater that drapes off my shoulders and highlights my collarbones. When I step through the doors of Elliott Bay Bookstore in Capitol Hill and sweep my eyes over the late-night crowd, I can tell I’ve made the right choice. The outfit is cozy but sexy, and just literary enough to blend in with the sea of bookstore attendees here for a midnight book release.
I’ve never even heard of the author, but that’s not what matters. What matters is Locke parting the crowd of plaid-wearing, bearded, hipster dudes and winter-pale waifs to smile at me. What matters is the way his eyes drop to my mouth, making my stomach flutter with nerves and causing heat to spread through my chest. Thanksgiving with his family was part of our deal. Tonight is something more—something that feels suspiciously like a date.
Molly’s I told you so rings loud in my ears as Locke approaches me in the fiction section, but in this case, I’m happy to be wrong. I don’t know what snapped him out of his funk this week, but if we’re here, together, I’ll eat my words.
The narrow aisles of the bookstore give me an excuse to step closer to him, and I rock onto my tiptoes to reach closer to his ear, permitting me a waft of his rich, intoxicating cologne. “You’re keeping me out late on a school night.” I try to keep the nerves out
