He drew away slowly, fingers grazing down the length of her arm and tugging at her fingers. “Downhill, you were saying?”
“Like a roller coaster.” She rose on her tiptoes and kissed him once more before forcing herself to step back. Two steps, to be safe. “We do have to eat.”
“Eating is overrated.” But he obediently began assembling sandwiches while she set the fruit on paper plates. “How are the love angels today?”
“Tired,” Bri answered before fully thinking through the ramifications of what that could mean. She pulled in her lower lip. “Probably just from the busy weekend of Casey’s wedding, though. They’re not used to being up that late. I’m sure it takes a few days to recover and get back into their routine.”
“Maybe so.” Gerard nodded, but his tone didn’t sound convinced.
Just like at the bank, a piece of her security separated from the whole and began floating away. Bri hastily plucked grapes from the bunch, one after the other, desperate to prove her own point. “You know, Mabel was dancing for half the reception, and Agnes was flirting with Mr. Hansen most of the night.” Pluck. Pluck. “That’s a lot on tired legs.” Pluck. “Even if they are in compression hose.” Pluck.
Gerard stilled her hand with his, and she released what was about to be her twentieth grape. He laughed and gestured for her to sit at the wicker chair by the table. “Come on. What gives?”
“Sorry, I’m just a little on edge.” Bri released the sigh that had been building all afternoon and rolled her eyes as she popped a grape in her mouth and sat. “It’s stupid.”
Gerard sat in the chair across from her. “Tell me. Let me be the judge.” He took a bite of a meat-laden croissant.
She needed to tell him about Sandra. Get it over with so they could go back to the good part of the evening—like kissing. She really didn’t want to waste her last few hours with Gerard worrying over nothing. Nothing was changing. Not with them, not with Mabel and Agnes. Not with the Puff.
She was probably just riding the tails of the discovery of her mother’s letters. “It’s nothing, really.”
“That’s not what the grapes said.”
Bri stifled a laugh. “Fine. I ran into Sandra at the bank while making deposits.”
“Say no more.” Gerard set his plate on the table and held up both hands. “I totally understand.”
“You’re hilarious.”
“Seriously, though, that woman can ruin anyone’s day in a heartbeat. It’s a gift.” Gerard frowned. “Or maybe a curse. What’d she do—insult your dog?”
“Only my wardrobe. But that’s probably just because I don’t have a dog.”
“You don’t care what Sandra thinks of your clothes.” Gerard leaned to the side and made an exaggerated show of looking her up and down, waggling his dark eyebrows. “I think you look nice. Really nice. In fact, come here, and I’ll show you I mean it.”
She swatted at his outstretched hand. “I’m being serious.”
“How can you? It’s Sandra. Shake her off.” Crumbs from the croissant flaked into his lap, and he brushed them away.
Sort of like he was doing with the conversation. Bri frowned. “You don’t want to know what she said?”
“If it’s that upsetting to you, then yes. Tell me.” He speared a strawberry with a fork and leaned back in his chair.
“She said you and Charles had a deal.”
Gerard choked. He quickly sat upright, pounding his chest as he coughed. “A what?”
“A deal. That you were egging on both sides, so to speak, for the sake of the article.” Bri shook her head. “She even said it was a good thing business at the Puff had picked up, because she knew the feature wasn’t going to be entirely favorable.”
Gerard guzzled half a bottle of water.
“That’s crazy.” She looked down at her hands, then back at Gerard, who dabbed his mouth with the back of his hand. “Right?”
“Isn’t she the town gossip?”
“Unofficially. Used to be officially.”
He scoffed. “Like I said, babe. Shake her off.”
Babe. Not Cupcake. Bri’s frown deepened. “So, there’s no deal with Charles, then.”
“Define deal.” Gerard busied himself with making another sandwich.
The dread that had been ballooning in her stomach all afternoon, and slowly deflating over the last hour, swelled back up to twice its size. “It’s true, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t agree to anything, Bri. Charles is a manipulating scumbag who’s used to getting what he wants.” Gerard shrugged. “I turned the tables on him, is all.”
“You let him believe the feature was slanted against the Puff?” Bri stood, her hip knocking the table. Gerard’s half-empty bottle of water shook precariously. “But you didn’t really do that, right?”
He opened his mouth, but she didn’t let him finish. “Can I read it? Let me read it.” She looked frantically around for his laptop, which never seemed to be far from him. She headed for the swing and began riffling through the pile of notebooks and books stacked on the end.
Gerard was instantly behind her. “I already turned it in.” He rubbed her arms. “You’ve got to calm down.”
She turned to face him, panic lodged in her throat. “Email it to me, then.”
His brow furrowed, frustration tightening his jaw. “You don’t trust me? Why would I make the Puff sound bad? My job is to make it sound worth coming to!”
The disdain in his voice wasn’t lost on her. Bri slowly stepped out of his grip. The hands that felt so safe and familiar just a few minutes ago now felt like a stranger’s. “Do you think it’s worth coming to?”
He didn’t, did he? He never really had, though she thought the petit fours had finally won him over. All the conversations they’d had about her possibly losing the Puff began to play back like a movie reel.
His pointing out her obsession with the Puff but that she’d had no problem selling her parents’ house—so why the big deal?
His butting into
