“With good hair,” Violet added.
“That doesn’t help!”
They laughed, and despite myself, I felt a small smile tug at my mouth. As annoying as they were, as pushy and perceptive and impossible as they could be… they also knew me better than anyone.
I rested my elbows on the counter and stared at the doorway through which Carson had disappeared.
A supper club dinner.
Withhim.
With my siblings.
With cocktails.
I was doomed.
Violet bumped her shoulder into mine. “Why does it bother you so much?”
“It doesn’t bother me,” I said. “I just don’t want—”
“You don’t want what?”
I hesitated.
I didn’t want to say it. Didn’t want to give the thought weight. Didn’t want to give my sisters anything else to poke at.
But the words slipped out anyway, quiet and too honest.
“I don’t want him to matter.”
Silence.
Real silence — not teasing, not smirking, not elbowing.
Then Fiona spoke softly. “Honey… he already does.”
I shot her a look sharp enough to slice fruit. “No. He’s my coworker. This is temporary. I am temporary.”
“But you’re acting like you’re trying not to care,” Violet said gently. “People only do that when they… well… care.”
Before I could respond, Beck’s voice echoed down the hallway.
“Carson! Come on! You’re not backing out of dinner!”
My stomach flipped so violently I nearly dropped my muffin.
Carson’s reply followed, calm and quiet. “I said I’d go.”
Violet squeezed my arm. “You’re going too.”
I groaned. “I hate this.”
“No, you don’t,” Fiona said. “You hate how much you want it.”
The door swung again, Beck’s boots thudding across the floor, Carson close behind him.
“Six o’clock!” Beck called. “Don’t be late!”
