“Well, looks like you were in luck. I hope you saved me some.”
“It’s okay. Claudia put another batch in the oven.” His whole face lights up as he tells me, his head wobbling enough that a big curl flops onto his forehead. It’s almost painful to look at him.
“What else do you have planned once you’ve eaten all the flapjacks?”
“We’re going to Foxleigh Park. I have a lesson with Uncle Miles. He plays polo, you know.”
“I did know that, yes.”
In the corner of my eye, I see Hendricks pushing his hands into his pockets. I try to spot a wedding ring, but all I catch is the flash of gold from his large signet ring. The one that all the Burlingtons wear, stamped with the Valentine Nook coat of arms.
There’s only so much I can take under the weight of Hendricks’s gaze, and I stand back up so that once again we’re staring and waiting for the other to speak first—goldfish state.
And I want to say something, but I just have no idea where to begin.
I have the feeling it’s the same for him.
Two things happen then.
Max realizes he’s forgotten something in The Beanery and runs back inside. And my eyes spy a woman emerging from a store on the other side of the street. She may as well have a spotlight on her for how much she’s illuminated through a sea of January beige drabness.
Seriously, who looks that glamorous on a Saturday morning?
“How’ve you—” Hendricks begins as I say, “Well . . . hope the three of you have a wonderful weekend. Must dash.”
His brows drop. “Three?”
“You, Max, your . . . wife?” I take a step back. I do not want to be here when she arrives.
Deep lines form across Hendricks’s brow. “I don’t have a wife.”
“Girlfriend then. Theblonde,” I snap before I can stop myself.
Regret kicks in before the sentence has even left my mouth, but my pride is too thick to allow me to take it back. It feels like six years ago when Hendricks told me he’d not only beenseeingsomeone for a few months, but that she’d also fallen pregnant.
He turns around to where my gaze keeps bouncing, and when his eyes return to mine, he’s confused.
No, not confused.Angry.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Might as well keep digging this hole. Maybe I’ll dig all the way back to Australia.
“I know exactly what I’m talking about.” I actuallydon’t.
“Quit while you’reahead, Stor.”
My teeth grit. “My name isSophie.”
“Not to me.”
“Then do me a favor and don’t talk to me again.” God, I’m such a child.
His blue eyes bore into me, even through angry slits. “Fine. It would be my pleasure.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
