She turned to Simon. “I shouldn’t have listened to you. I should have made his favorite.”
Owen grinned. “You already did, didn’t you?”
She swatted his arm. “I might have.” Then, with a glance at Simon, she added, “Our Owen should eat well when he’s home. Especially injured.”
Our Owen.
I swallowed the knot that was forming in my stomach from the moment we got into the car, plastering a smile as I prepared to set the table.
And then—because apparently, I wasn’t already on edge—she said it.
“How’s that gorgeous English girlfriend of yours? Bambi, wasn’t it?”
My stomach plummeted.
Across the room, Owen’s easy smile didn’t falter, but something shifted in his eyes, barely noticeable. “This isn’t a history lesson, Paula,” he replied Owen-like, rubbing the back of his neck.
My mother frowned. “Oh, that’s a shame. She seemed lovely.”
Simon gave Owen a look I couldn’t quite read, but whatever it was, Owen ignored it, turning back to my mom with another smooth, effortless grin. “I think you wouldn’t have approved of her taste in music. Let’s just say that Duran Duran wasn’t on her playlist. At all.”
Simon and I both burst out laughing.
God, this man.He knew exactly what to say and to whom.
My mom patted his arm. “Then good riddance. You deserve the best, sweetheart.”
I turned toward the table, my fingers tightening around a plate.
Nicole walked in from the kitchen, holding a bottle of wine. “Oh good, you’re here,” she said to Owen before handing the bottle to Simon. “You have to tell useverything. You might have told Simon, but he doesn’t tell me anything important. The girls are obsessed with the presents, by the way.”
Owen laughed, rubbing his jaw at her gunfire pace. “I’ll try not to disappoint.”
“I see you haven’t lost your charm,” I half-whispered when he passed by me, just as the table was almost ready.
A panty-melting smirk was his response and my proof.
We kept our distance from each other on purpose, acting as if nothing had changed.
But it still spilled through the seams.
At one point, Owen leaned in and murmured something entirely mundane in my ear—about how good the food smelled—but the way his breath tickled my skin, the quiet intimacy of it, probably made it seem like something else.
I caught Simon’s gaze zipping between us.
Then, before we sat down, I found myself standing next to Owen, and his hand barely ghosted over the small of my back. A brief, thoughtless touch—one that sent a spark up my spine but meant nothing, really. Except Simon caught it, too. His eyes narrowed slightly, assessing, like he was watching a puzzle come together piece by piece.
His jaw tightened just a fraction.
We all sat down, Owen taking the seat Nicole gestured toward—one further away from me.
Dinner went on, conversation flowing easily around me.
Until my mom, with her well-meaning comments, turned to me.
“Rio, those bangs always seem to fall into your eyes. Maybe you should try Nicole's hairstylist—he could do something great with your hair. Just look at how nice Nicole’s always looks.”
“Sure, Mom,” I muttered. She would never have said it in front of strangers. That was the problem—she considered Owen like a brother to me.
