At least, that’s what she assumed Jordan was doing. In the three days that had passed since their redesign meeting, they’d had only two scenes together—one that featured them arguing about the exterior paint color, and another that had Astrid explaining the changes to an incredulous Josh while Jordan slurped loudly on her coffee in the background, leaning against the front porch steps with her feet crossed lackadaisically at the ankles.
Emery loved it. Natasha loved it. And of course, designer and carpenter had planned every moment, but each time they shot a scene where she and Jordan went toe to toe, it still left Astrid feeling shaky.
There was also the fact that these tense, recorded exchanges were the only interaction she’d had with Jordan since their meeting. They’d both been swamped filming individual scenes—Astrid directingJosh’s crew, Jordan building and refinishing—and Astrid hadn’t laid eyes on her carpenter at all today. She felt desperate to see her, talk to her without cameras around, particularly after their literal tête-à-tête in the inn’s kitchen right before the meeting. The feel of Jordan’s skin under her fingertips, the way Jordan’s eyes had fluttered closed... Astrid hadn’t stopped thinking about it since.
She rose up on her tiptoes, scanning the crowd inside for a half-shaved haircut and a printed button-up.
“I like the new design,” Josh said, taking a sip of his beer. “Doesn’t seem like you though.”
She frowned at him. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “It’s vintage. Spooky. You are neither of those things.”
She rolled her eyes. While he was technically right, she was not going to let Josh Foster tell her who she was. “I’m a designer. I can design whatever I need to.”
He presented a palm in surrender, but somehow, his mouth kept flapping. “You never have before.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“I’m just saying we’ve worked on a lot of projects together in the last year. This one feels different.”
She shook her head, but her stomach tightened. If Josh could tell this design wasn’t exactly on brand, surely everyone else in her circle would be able to as well. She hadn’t been very forthcoming about the nature of the project with Claire and Iris. It wasn’t like she shared a ton of work details with her friends all that often anyway, but somehow, withholding her design partnership with Jordan was starting to feel like lying.
“Or,” Josh said, turning around to face the house, “maybe it’s thewhothat’s different.”
She froze. “What the hell are you talking about?”
He tipped his beer bottle toward the living room, where Astrid could see Simon and Jordan weaving through the crowd.
She wasn’t sure whichwhoJosh was referring to, Simon or Jordan, but from the shit-eating grin he now sported, she could guess. But if there was anyone on the planet she wasnotgoing to discuss her sexuality with, it was Josh Foster. Plus, there was no way he actually suspected anything. She and Jordan pretty much pretended to hate each other whenever he was around.
“Dad!” Ruby Sutherland’s voice split through her thoughts, the twelve-year-old flying onto the deck and into her father’s arms, all long limbs and brown hair. Claire and Iris trailed behind her, both of their eyes lighting up at the sight of Astrid.
“Hey, there’s my girl,” Josh said, lifting Ruby off the ground for a second before setting her back down. “You ready for a weekend with your old man?”
“Yes, please,” Ruby said. “There’s way too much kissing happening in this house right now.”
“Hey, now,” Claire said, swatting her daughter’s arm.
Ruby just laughed, then leaned her head on her mother’s shoulder. Astrid smiled and ran a hand down Ruby’s hair in greeting. Ruby beamed at her, and then she and Josh started talking a mile a minute about their plans for the weekend.
Astrid was glad for the distraction. She looped one arm through Iris’s elbow and used her other to direct Claire to a corner of the patio. “Remind me never to let your ex corner me again, okay?”
Claire laughed. “What did he do now?”
Astrid waved a hand. “Just being his charming self.” She took a sip of her wine and looked at Iris. “No Jillian tonight?”
Iris’s shoulder slumped. “No. She had to work this weekend. Some big corporation did something horrible.”
Claire canted her head. “Is she defending or prosecuting?”
Iris winced. “Defending, I think.”
Astrid and Claire caught each other’s eye. Iris was pretty much ahippie, preaching the evils of Amazon and the need for composting services in every city in America.
“I know, I know,” Iris said. “You don’t have to say it.”
“Say what?” Astrid said, feigning ignorance.
