“Hi, Amy. Ooh, I love your bag. Is that the Duchess?”
“Same style, different pattern.” I turned the square tote sideways so she could see. I was proud of the design,Fleur, a single stylized flower in bold blue.
“Love it. Why don’t I have any of those for the store?”
“I’ll make sure you get some. We’re a little behind on orders,” I confessed.
“So, what are you doing here?”
“I’m helping Aunt Phee move into the carriage house. Trey thought I could use a break.”
“Really?” Sallie’s gaze darted between me and Trey on the court. “Are you guys... together?”
Easy A. The old nickname rose like a finger-pointing ghost. I shook my head. “He’s my sister’s ex.”
“Jo? That was years ago.”
“There is no statute of limitations on the Sisters’ Code.”
“Please. I used to go out with Belle’s boyfriends all the time. If I didn’t take sloppy seconds, I never would have dated at all. It’s not like there’s a surplus of eligible guys in this town.”
“We’re not dating. We’re here with Alec. Eric’s son?” Who was running down the court, high-fiving a teammate. So at least somebody was having fun.
“Which just goes to show,” Sallie said.
“Show what?”
“Trey must really be over Jo.”
Washe? The possibility stole my breath. “He’s just being nice,” I said. “Trey is like family.”
“‘Like a brother,’ Meg says.”
Not quite. “Speaking of family, is that your baby?”
Sallie glanced over her shoulder at the toddler in a sundress clinging to her father’s hand. Her face softened. “Yes, that’s our Hayley. I should go before Ned gets her killed on the monkey bars. Enjoy the game!”
Trey’s team lost.
Although you could hardly tell from the way they behaved afterward, fist-bumping and grinning. Trey came over, sweaty and cheerful, and reached for his shirt. A light fan of dark hair arrowed from his chest down his stomach, disappearing into his shorts. I remembered the secret pleasure of that soft friction against my skin and blushed.
“Seen enough?”
I jerked my gaze from Trey’s torso to his amused face. “Basketball? Yes.” I raised my chin. “I’m not a big fan.”
“And yet you’re ogling.”
Busted. “Please. I’m an artist. It’s not ogling. It’s human study.” Although none of the male models I’d drawn in school had looked like Trey, all lean muscle and golden skin.
Alec loped up. “Ice cream?”
“That’s the plan,” Trey said. “Your aunt Amy needs to cool off.”
“Bite me,” I said sweetly.
After ice cream, we strolled through downtown, the storefronts refurbished after the recent floods. The windows of Eric’s new Taproom gleamed. An art gallery and a gift shop had joined Bunyan’s Hardware and Connie’s Cupcake Confections on Main Street. A new bookstore had opened where the camera shop used to be.
“Hey, there’s Jo’s book,” Alec said, pointing toSisters’ Farmdisplayed in the front window.
