Must be clinical. Airborne. Contagious.
Save yourselves, boys.
"That man is impossible to track down when he's—" She stops short, her perfect lips forming a perfect 'o' of surprise. "Nick! Chance!"
Her cheeks flush pink—not the blotchy kind like mine, but the kind that probably comes with its own Instagram filter.
She's distracted, clearly annoyed about something, but still manages to look like a Nordic Christmas card come to life—rosy, ethereal, and so damn perfectly composed.
"Little Sierra Barrett!" Mrs. McAllister practically levitates with delight. "Look at you, just as lovely as ever. Join us!"
"Oh, I couldn't, I—" Her gaze drifts to Chance. "I really need to find Everett. His joke of a grant application… for the renovation—you know—never mind.”
My stomach clenches.
Renovation?
So she's not just here to look pretty in ski pants for the day.
She’ll be around.
Super.
"Such a shame," Chance’s mother sighs. "You know, dear,” She leans in and winks. “Chance has a thing for blondes."
I definitely don't think about how that applies to me.
Or how it doesn't.
Or why I care.
Not at all.
I picked a hell of a time to quit drinking. You know, five minutes ago.
Look—the first step is admitting you have a problem. I’ve got 99, but dragging my father’s legacy out of the stone age ain’t one.
Today anyway.
Statuesque Nordic chick on the other hand…
“Mom,” Chance says with a tone that tells her to shutty, without telling he to shutty.
I need him to teach me that.
“Okay, that’s enough alcohol for you,” Eve says as she swipes the partial mimosa from Mrs. McAllister’s hands. “Jesus, Mom, a little tact.”
“Don’t ‘Jesus Mom’ me, young lady. I’m the one who taught manners in the first place. Every lesson?—”
“Was built on the foundation of ‘Do as I say, not as I do.’ Come on, take a walk with me.”
"Not that his taste for blonds worked out so well with Noelle," Mr. McAllister adds dryly, watching Eve disappear out the doorway with his wife.
Chance goes deathly still next to me, his fork crashing onto his plate. The room fills with a charged silence.
"Who's Noelle?" The words are out before I can stop them.
"Ancient history," Nick says quickly, his tone warning.
