“Hi,” I offer, as Mrs. Russell’s smile goes a bit brittle.
“Nice to meet you,” she says. “That must be a recent development.”
“Oh, not that recent,” I say, five percent too cheerful.
“It’s been a little while,” Gideon says, taking my hand.
“I guess word hasn’t gotten around yet, though,” I add. He squeezes my fingers. “Which is weird, because normally news gets aroundveryquickly.”
Behind her, Trish hazards a faintly amused look in our direction.
“Well, Gideon, I just wanted to let you know that my home is open to you if you’d ever like to come for dinner,” she says. “Trish here makeswonderfulhomemade sourdough. She captured the starter herself and everything.”
Trish looks pained at this characterization of bread making.
“That’s not quite how it works,” she says, and her mom laughs a laugh that’s not fully sincere.
“Oh, Patricia,” she says. “Anyway, lovely to see you, Gideon, and nice to meet you—”
There’s a blank space where my name is probably supposed to go, and she fills it with a smile before heading into the cereal aisle.
“I don’t remember discussing exclusivity,” I say, and get to watch Gideon’s face go through several expressions before settling onslightly frowny. “My other boyfriends might be sad about it.”
Gideon just huffs, tosses some cheese into the cart, and shoots me a frowny look.
“Come on, we still haven’t found coconut extract,” he grumbles. “Also, you’re not funny.”
I just grin and kiss him on the cheek.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-FOUR
GIDEON
“They don’tknow,”I’m telling Reid after dinner as he clears the table and I scrub a pot.
“No shit,” he says.
“They don’t know her,” I go on, because I started telling him about this and now I can’t stop. “They don’t know anything about us. They don’t know—”
I cut myself off, because I can’t bring myself to saythat we’re in loveorhow she makes everything brighterorsometimes it feels like I’ve been underwater for years and now I’m surfacing in the sunlightin front of my little brother. Seems awkward.
“—fucking anything,” is what I say out loud.
“Yeah,” he says, and puts two glasses on the counter more aggressively than is really warranted. “Noshit.”
“Try not to break things.”
“Are they broken?”
“Notyet,” I snap, scrubbing harder. At this rate I might scrub directly through the stainless steel, which would fucking serve this pot right for getting cheese burnt onto it like this.
“Don’t get pissed at me because our parents are assholes,” he says, and there’s more clinking near the table, and I grind my teeth together and rinse the stupid pot and put it into the dish drain.
Then I shut the water off and lean over the sink and force myself to take several deep breaths because, as always, I’m the adult here. Even when I don’t really want to be. Even when I want to pick stupid fights and storm out of rooms and let someone else come after me to calm me down, that’s not how it is.
“Sorry,” I say, after a minute.
Reid walks over and—gently—puts two plates and silverware on the counter.
