He nods quickly, gnaws on the side of his index finger. “I have just the perfect thing in mind. Lemme get back to my shop, sketch up a spec for you—”
“I’d like Jackson to weigh in, too, of course, and Alexander—”
She’s not sure if she’s imagined this, but did Ethan just roll his eyes? Surely not.
“Oh, of course! But I can visualize somethingamazinghere. And no cost to you for me to draw up some plans, a quote. Then we can run it by your husband and Mr. Ford.”
Luke hasn’t uttered a word; he’s kept his head down, gaze cast to the floor.
Charleigh can feel this little interlude wrapping up, and now she’s desperate to keep them here. “Y’all want lemonade? A beer for you, Ethan?”
Ethan looks over to Luke. “Son?”
“Um, sure, that sounds nice. Thanks.”
Charleigh shuffles into the kitchen, delighted to have something to do with her hands, her mind. They trickle in behind her.
“Nice kitchen!” Ethan beams, running his hands along the marble countertop. “My wife would kill for this.”
Even though shehateshis wife, his words make her sad. Forhim. She has never forgotten the hardscrabble life at the farm. The rickety cabinets in her childhood kitchen—roaches scurrying out, aluminum baking tins clanging together as she rummaged for food—the sad little sink with no dishwasher, her mother’shunched form over the cutting board, butchering a hog because they never had money to buy meat from the supermarket.
“Well, I do feel blessed and don’t take it for granted!” she chirps, sounding like an entitled imbecile. She wants to fess up, tell Ethan that she, too, used to live out on the land, that her life hasn’t always looked like a magazine spread, but she can’t muster the energy to.
She cracks open a beer, passes it to him, scoots Luke’s glass of lemonade across the countertop. Opens a beer for herself.
“Cheers!” Ethan says, tipping his bottle to hers, his eyes grazing her chest as he sips.
Charleigh swoons, feels the pinch of attraction, but represses it. Again, she’s never felt the need to stray—or the desire to—but this man could seduce the panties off Mother Theresa.
She inwardly scolds herself again for thinking such ridiculous thoughts.
“Hope you don’t mind, but I need to use the men’s room,” Ethan says.
“Oh, be my guest! There’s one right there, but the one off the foyer is much nicer. And much cleaner.”
As soon as Ethan exits, Charleigh turns her full attention to Luke. “How are you holding up?”
What a dumb thing to ask.
He sips at his drink, sets it down, hands wobbly. “I—well, it’s pretty freaky, what happened and all. I just really hope she’s gonna be okay—”
“Yes, of course you do!” Charleigh walks around the island,folds him into a hug, needing one herself more than he probably does. He accepts it, his skinny frame poking into hers.
She unlatches herself, fixes him with her eyes. “I know you two were dating; I saw you together at the party. I’msosorry. I went to the hospital, and they said they need their space, so that must bereallyhard on you, having to be away from her.”
Luke takes a tiny, imperceptible step back, stares at the ground again. His feathered black hair falls over his eyes, and his face looks solemn.
“Must be tough to behereand not there,” Charleigh quickly adds, trying to keep the line of conversation flowing.
“Well,” Luke replies, shaking the hair out of his eyes, “she’s not my girlfriend.”
Charleigh’s pulse thrums in her veins; she was not expecting him to say that. Sensing her opening, she lets words surge from her lips. “Oh! So whoisthat person you’re seeing?” She knows she’s walking a fine line here, that she’s at risk of him shutting down at any moment, but she’s pedal to the metal now, full bore.
IfNellie was behind Blair’s accident, then she’s got to stay ten feet ahead—no, a thousand feet ahead—of what she might do next. Charleigh’s gotta try and hook Luke for Nellie.
“Hmmm?” she pesters.
He sighs, drags a hand through his hair, flicks his eyes up at hers. Biting the bottom of his lip, he says, “Oh, I’m not really seeing that other person either.”
