My stomach tightens, the image of him standing outside my door so fresh.
I can’t help but stare at him.
“Well, it looks horrendous. Does it hurt?”
He looks at her, suspicion darkening his irises. “I’m fine.”
Bridget almost sounds concerned. I try to ignore the awkward exchange and grab the orange juice.
She lowers her voice. “Then you won’t mind if we keep this between us?”
There it is.
Pouring a glass, I roll my eyes.
“You know how quickly rumors spread. The last thing we need is gossip circulating—”
“I know the drill.” He shrugs her hand away, his jaw clenching.
Bridget nods, then digs through the purse hanging off her shoulder. “I have foundation that will work wonders to cover it up.”
“I’ll pass.” He scoots his chair back and stands, stuffing his notebooks into his backpack. “Besides, didn’t you say you have to go?”
She glances at the clock above the fridge. “Well, yes.”
Easton picks up his backpack and takes a step to leave, but her voice sharpens.
“However, you can’t head out like that. Just look at that face—I’ll get a dozen calls before lunch. Would you really do that to me? At least let Eva cover it up before you go.”
I pause with the glass of juice halfway to my lips.
For the first time since I entered the kitchen, Easton swings his gaze to me. His expression is the same blank slate he gave his mom, but he isn’t moving to leave anymore either.
“Me?” I repeat stupidly.
“Is there another Eva here?” Bridget huffs, sets her foundation on the island, and rubs her temple while muttering, “I ask her to do one simple thing ...”
She strolls across the kitchen and stops in front of the coffee pot, then squints at the empty spot beside it like she doesn’t know what she’s looking at. “Eva. Where is my coffee?”
“Oh, sorry, I’ll make it now.”
“Can this morning get any worse?” she moans.
I shift. “I didn’t know you had such an early—”
She holds up a hand, halting my words. “Really, Eva, this many voices in the morning are completely unnecessary.”
Yeah, well, so is brandy.
“I’ll just make it myself.” She fumbles with the coffee pot, obviously having no idea how to work it. “Easton, have you spoken to your brother about the anniversary party?”
There aren’t many things that make me nervous, but family events with the Rutherfords are one of them. I have a feeling Easton’s brother, Isaac, would rather cozy up with a family of cobras than attend Bridget and Vincent’s anniversary party. Isaac was adopted before Easton was born, when the Rutherfords thought they couldn’t conceive naturally. In the three years I’ve lived in this house, I’ve seen Isaac exactly three times; the annual Rutherford Christmas party is a do-or-die family affair.
Irritation slips through Easton’s voice. “Not yet.”
Moving to the island, I set my drink down and pick up the foundation. I look up at Easton, who hasn’t budged from where he’s standing a few feet away.
“For heaven’s sake, Easton, it’s next month. What could possibly be taking up so much of your time that you can’t spare a simple phone call?”
