“This is my girlfriend. Gracie,” Braxton says.
Paisley steps forward, arms up for a hug. I try to step back, but she’s on me before I can. I go still, not sure what to do. I’m not a hugger, and she’s a stranger—who smells like my boyfriend—but it would be rude to shove her away.
“It’ssonice to meet you, Gracie,” Paisley exclaims, pulling back to give me a pretty smile. “My mother has told me all about you. I didn’t actually expect Braxton to be shacked up, but stranger things have happened.”
My brows dip together at her wording. “Nice to meet you too,” I say, fixing my smile in place. Braxton is standing behind her, a bright smile on his face and his eyes warm with affection. It should make me feel better, but as Paisley steps away from me, his eyes aren’t on me.
They’re following her.
CHAPTER 3
Gracie
Dinner is a relaxed affair, everyone swapping stories over honey-glazed ham and scalloped potatoes. I spear a green bean with my fork, feeling like I’ve been swallowing rocks more than anything else, unable to force the feeling away.
Braxton is sitting on my right, his hand often resting on my knee, fingers stroking my thigh through my linen pants. Joseph and Esther are sitting at each end, while Paisley is across from me, Nick beside her. The conversation has been flowing, laughter coming easily as they reminisce about Braxton, Nick, and Paisley’s high school days.
Nothing about it should send warning bells ringing. Paisley and Braxton don’t share lingering glances, neither of them acting out of the ordinary, and as the night wears on, I convince myself that what I witnessed doesn’t mean anything.
He grew up with her, just like Nick.
It’s been four years.
They missed each other, just like you would miss any sister of your best friend.
I start to relax, but then I remember the way his greeneyes tracked Paisley across the room as she moved away from me, and my stomach drops all over again.
Braxton finishes his pumpkin pie, sitting back with a groan. “Oh mygod. I almost need to loosen my pants.”
Esther laughs. “You didn’t need to have the second piece.”
He gives an exaggerated frown. “Yes, I did.”
She rolls her eyes at him before turning to ask Nick something. As she does, Braxton leans into me, his breath brushing over my nape and making my skin pimple with goose bumps.
“You look tired, baby.”
“I’m fine,” I tell him, resting my hand against his when he places it back on my leg. I stroke my fingers across his knuckles, his skin familiar, reassuring myself that one evening can’t change everything so quickly.
“We can go soon if you like,” he offers, just as Nick tells him, “I got that new video game we were talking about, Brax. Come check it out.”
Braxton pauses, eyes flicking between us, but I pat his hand. “Go on. I’m going to help Esther tidy up.”
“Okay, baby,” he says gently, leaning to press a soft kiss to my cheek. I smile, leaning into his touch, but when I look up, my eyes lock with Paisley’s brown ones across the table, her brow furrowed.
She looks away, smiling at her mother. “I’ll help take everything into the kitchen, but then I told Justine I would call her.”
“No problem, sweetheart,” Esther says cheerfully. “Between Gracie and me, we’ll get everything squared away in no time.”
I smile my agreement, standing up and stacking the plates to carry them into the kitchen. We make quick work of clearing the table, Esther and Paisley chatting away, neither of them noticing when I don’t say much.
Paisley leaves as I’m filling the sink with sudsy water, Esther slotting in beside me with a dish towel in hand. “How’s work been?” she asks, sounding genuinely interested.
I take a plate, scrubbing it a little too vigorously, the water sloshing over the side of the sink. “It’s always a little quieter as we head into the colder season,” I say absent-mindedly. “But Maryann got married a week ago, and she’s left for an extended honeymoon, so we’re short-staffed for the next month.”
“I admire you, you know,” Esther says. “I’ve seen what you can create. I buy a wreath every year from Blossom Boutique, even if I’m not home. I’ve never been creative like that, but I have always wished I were.”
I shoot her a small smile. “Your cooking is pretty creative. I’m sure Braxton would argue that your pies are masterpieces.”
