“Yes, you do.”
She lifts her chin. “And I’ll try to sound wistful when I tell people about our deep, meaningful conversation that finally broke through years of animosity. Then you kissed me.”
“Right. But just a brief one. Leaving you wanting more.”
Sydney snorts. “Confident much?”
“On that one I am.”
The SUV crunches to a stop in front of Meema’s house. I kill the engine but don’t move to get out. There’s something we need to settle first.
“Ground rules.” I turn to face her fully for the first time since we left her townhome. “No physical stuff. Outside of what we have to do in public.”
Sydney guffaws. “Duh.”
“You laugh now, but some say I’m pretty irresistible.” I run a hand through my hair—a nervous habit.
“No problem whatsoever.” Her voice is dry, but there’s a defensiveness beneath it. “I’m as committed to keeping this professional—just as you are.”
“Good. Because Jonah made me promise to stay away from you, and this already feels like breaking that promise.”
Something flashes across her face—confusion, maybe?—before a smirk takes over. “Huh. I guess my brotherdoeslove me.”
“Funny. Anyway,” I continue quickly, “we need to make this look convincing without crossing any lines. Hand-holding, an arm around the shoulder, a chaste kiss in public. That’s it.”
“Again. Fine by me.” She unbuckles her seatbelt with more force than necessary. “Just remember to use your words when we’re out. The whole caveman grunt thing doesn’t exactly scream ‘passionate relationship.’”
“Fine.” I step out of the SUV. The cold air still carries the scent of pine and the lake beyond the trees. “Ready?”
Sydney takes a deep breath, straightening hershoulders. “As ready as I’ll ever be to lie to a sweet old woman with cancer.”
Guilt hits—hard. “Lies are okay if they help someone without hurting them,” I say, trying to convince myself as much as Sydney. Reminder: keeping up Meema’s spirits improves the effectiveness of the treatment.
“I know.” Her voice softens. “I want her to be happy and recover too.”
We stand there, united in our concern for Meema. It feels strange, this momentary truce after years of badgering each other. Not unpleasant, just... unfamiliar.
The front door opens before we reach it, revealing Meema in her shawl. Her face lights up when she sees us together, and the guilt in my chest twists sharper.
“There you are, Brooksie.” Her voice is stronger than it was this morning. “I was beginning to think you’d headed back to Boise.” She smiles at Sydney. “And you’re here too. Good—I have the albums ready.”
“Meema.” I hurry up the steps to help her. “You shouldn’t be standing in the doorway. It’s too cold.”
“Oh, hush.” She waves me away but allows me to guide her back inside. “I’m not made of glass.”
Sydney follows us in, closing the door against the chill. Her smile is in place, but I can see the tension around her eyes.
Once we’re settled in the living room, Meema with the albums stacked on the coffee table in front of her, I say, “Before you and Sydney get to work, I… we have something to tell you.”
“Okay.” Her eyes go wide as she looks back and forth at us.
I glance at Sydney, who gives me an almost imperceptible nod. Here goes nothing.
I clear my throat, suddenly feeling like a teenager caught with booze. “Sydney and I... we’re together.”
Meema’s face splits into a grin so wide it must hurt. “I knew it! I knew there was something between you two!”
“We were trying to keep it quiet.” Sydney moves to sit beside me on the couch—close but not touching. “With Brooks’ hockey and my job at the station...”
