Meg turned back to me. “So, when did—”
John nudged her. “Sitter. Nine o’clock.”
I loved my brothers-in-law.
They left, John’s hand on the small of Meg’s back. Across the dining room, Jo was talking with the starstruck teen while Eric looked on proudly. I was happy for them. Honestly. But...
“Jealous?” Trey asked.
I wasn’t going to swallow my feelings. Not even to save my pride. “A little,” I admitted.
“You shouldn’t be. Baggage is really taking off.” He met my gaze, his eyes warm. “I’ve always admired your focus.”
“Wait. You think I’m jealous of Jo’scelebrity?”
Trey cocked an eyebrow. “Aren’t you?”
“No. Maybe. I guess. We’ve always been competitive.”
“So it’s a habit.”
I sipped my Kölsch. Set it aside. “Trey, do you remember my nickname growing up?”
He signaled to Kitty. “‘Princess,’” he answered promptly.
“Before that.” Maybe not. I was already ten years old when he came to live with his grandfather.
He shook his head.
“My sisters called me, ‘Me, too.’” My first words, according to Meg. “Because I said it so often. Whenever Momma let them do something—stay up late or play down the street or go to the movies—I complained until I got it, too. I always wanted what they had.”
Kitty appeared at our table and set a cocktail in front of me.
I blinked. “Thanks.”
Trey shrugged, like it was no big deal he’d ordered me another drink. He probably ordered drinks for women all the time. “I thought you all shared everything,” he said after Kitty left.
Oh, right. We were talking about my sisters. “We did. Which meant someone else always had it first.” A new sweater, a new bike, a new lunch box... Trey.
“I used to envy you,” he said. “Your family. I wanted what you had.”
The cocktail was good, sweet and boozy with a hint of bitter. “A goat farm?” I joked.
He smiled, but there was something else in his dark eyes, a trace of sadness, a hint of vulnerability. It always got to me, that Lost Boy look. “You have each other.”
“I know. Oh, I know. I’m lucky. But whenever I see my sisters, I feel like I’m twelve years old again. Like we’re all stuck in the same roles we had when we were kids.”
His mouth curved. “The beautiful princess.”
“The spoiled princess. With the smallest speaking part.”
“That’s not what I see. You are beautiful.” He took my hand. “You’re also talented.”
“Go on.”
He grinned. “Hardworking.”
“Thank you.”
