Charlotte took another bite of her bagel to hide her grimace, chewing slowly. She’d forgotten about the overnight trip they were taking to Briar Lodge in Greenbriar Ridge, a town about an hour away. Sloane and Adele’s stepmother’s family owned a ski lodge, which she and Raymond Berry had just renovated. Raymond had booked them all cabins, given them all access to the slopes and spa.
“It’s supposed to snow a lot too,” Elle said. “We should probably leave sooner than later.”
Charlotte nodded, but they hadn’t rehearsed yesterday either, and she needed the calm that only her violin provided before heading off into the snowy wilderness with this crew again.
“A quick one,” she said.
“Three songs,” Manish said.
Charlotte narrowed her eyes. “Six.”
“Four.”
“Deal.”
Manish’s eyes widened. “I won.” He gripped Elle’s arm and shook them. “I won.”
“You didn’t win,” Elle said. “It’s called compromise.”
“That is a win where Charlotte is concerned.”
“Actually, I like odd numbers,” Charlotte said, smiling wryly at him.
“Nope, nope, you said deal on four. Four it is. Four is law,” he said, then slid out of his chair. “I’m going to go tune my viola. Elle?”
“Good idea,” Elle said.
“Don’t think we’ve forgotten about Compliment Charlotte,” Manish said as he ambled out of the room, and Charlotte frowned at him.
“Who?” she asked.
“Brighton knows,” he said, winking at Brighton before he and Elle scurried down to the basement, laughing and whispering something about someone being pretty and—
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
You are very, very pretty.
The parking lot memory hit Charlotte like a slap. She stuffed the rest of her bagel into her mouth.
Smiled at Brighton, who, she realized, was now the only other person in the room. And Brighton was looking right at Charlotte, a tiny smile on her lips. Her eyes…god, they were lovely. Dark and surrounded by thick lashes that used to brush her thighs when—
No, no, that wasn’t the point. Thepointwas that Brighton’s eyes were shining. They were what one might callstarry. Brighton released a little laugh and looked away, ran a hand over the back of her neck.
She was nervous.
She was…flushed, her cheeks pink. And she was blinking a lot, those damn lashes fluttering like butterfly wings.
Oh, dear devil in hell, what had Charlotte done?
“So…,” Brighton said, lifting those moon-soaked eyes to Charlotte’s once again. “Last night—”
“I can’t remember a single thing that happened,” Charlotte said. She knew her posture was too straight, too tight. She forced her shoulders to drop a little. Forced a tiny, shy laugh of her own.
Brighton’s expression froze, her mouth open in a small circle. “You…you don’t?”
Charlotte shook her head. “Not one thing. I hope I wasn’t too obnoxious.”
Brighton swallowed, looked down at her plate, and pressed her forefinger into some errant poppy seeds. “No. Not at all.”
