“Damien,” Candace chirped, catching my eye. “I’m so glad you invited us.”
Emma stepped back from the hug, the warmth drained from her face, replaced by a coldness sharp enough to cut glass. “You,” she snapped, the words slicing clean through the air. “We invited you.”
Candace flinched. “I just thought it’d be nice—for the boys to get to know each other a bit more.”
Garrett stepped forward, unbothered. His tone was flat, his hand extended. “Hey, man, long time no see.”
I took it, gripping his hand—maybe harder than I should have. A grip that said:We aren’t friends.
I shifted subtly, placing myself at Emma’s side without breaking the handshake.
His gaze flicked to mine, awareness sparking—message received.
“This is so unlike you,” Candace said, nudging Emma’s shoulder with a wink. “Taking a chance out in public. Daredevil.”
Color rose to Emma’s face.
“It was my idea,” I stepped in. “I practically forced her.”
Disapproval flickered across Candace’s face. Then she reset, scanning the room like a tourist. “Anyway. I’m glad we’re here. I’ve been dying to check this place out.”
Garrett’s laugh was low and humorless. “Yeah, real thrilling.” He slanted a look toward Candace, his expression souring. “I tried to convince her to hit the racetrack with me instead—like we’d planned.” The words were meant to sting. Then his focus shifted to Emma. “But Emma always edges me out, doesn’t she?”
The air cooled. Even Candace’s smile faltered.
Great. Not only did we not want him here—he didn’t want to be here either.
I smoothed my features into something pleasant. “Oh, come on,” I said, keeping my tone light, “who would pick horse racing over antique furniture?”
He grimaced, eyes narrowing. “Me,” he drawled. “All day, every day.”
Candace rolled her eyes, her laugh too bright to be real. “You’re impossible.”
Emma didn’t respond. Her focus wandered toward a row of mismatched mirrors, fingers brushing absently against the hem of her dress.
“Come on, Em,” Candace urged, linking their arms. “I found a side table that would look amazing in your bedroom.”
They disappeared into the maze of furniture, their voices fading into the low murmur of the shop.
Garrett and I trailed behind. He shoved his hands into his pockets, looking around like he’d wandered into a thrift store by mistake. “I really hate it when they drag me to these places.” He wrinkled his nose. “Smells like old books in here.” He glanced at me with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Makes me gag.”
“I find it charming,” I said, sidestepping a crooked stack of chairs. “Plus, Emma loves it.”
“Yeah, she would,” he muttered with a low chuckle. “Always has to have the weirdest taste. Candace is starting to pick it up, too. Who the hell wants old junk when you can buy new?” He waved a dismissive hand at the stacked antiques.
“I like things with history,” I said. “Stories built into them.”
He scoffed. “I like things that don’t fall apart.”
A huff of amusement escaped me before I could stop it. “Then you probably shouldn’t touch anything in here.”
He laughed, but it was thin—a brittle sound that didn’t quite hide the irritation in his eyes. “Fine,” he said, pouting like a spoiled child. “Guess I’ll just follow the ladies and pretend to care.” Then he leaned closer, dropping his voice. “Or we could sneak out,” he added, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Bet they wouldn’t even notice if we were gone.”
My head turned, slow. “Excuse me?”
He smirked, shrugging one shoulder. “Come on, man. We’ll grab a drink down the street, let them do their girl thing. They’ll talk antiques for hours—trust me.”
“No,” I answered, jaw tightening. “Not happening.”
