Turning around, I hardened my stare at him. “You have no right to ask about Lucas. But if ya were paying attention, you already know the answer.”
Then I walked out and closed the door behind me.
When I got back to the pool house, I watched the door for a while, hoping Carson would come to talk to me. But he didn’t.
No one ever came after me.
On Sunday morning, I got up, took care of Allister, and then went out to the pool for a morning swim. At home, I would hit the water first thing to wake me up and get my blood pumping.
The St. James’ were leaving today, and I wanted to say goodbye. Just as I got out of the pool, Carson strolled out onto the deck. Clad in athletic shorts and a T-shirt, he sported messy, disheveled hair I wanted to run my fingers through. But the big thing that caught my eye was the dark circles under his eyes.
“Morning,” he said, yawning. “My mom wanted to invite you to have breakfast with us. She’s making French Toast.”
Mrs. St. James invited me. Not him. Patting myself dry, I nodded. “Yeah. Sounds great. Tell her thank you.”
“Breakfast will be ready in about twenty minutes.” Carson gave me a half-smile and a nod, but didn’t meet my eyes.
“I’ll be right there.”
Turning, I headed to shower and dress. I had plans for the day that didn’t include sitting around waiting for Carson St. James.
Dressed in casual shorts and a Ralph Lauren Polo shirt, I walked out onto the deck to find them sitting outside. Bella came bounding out, followed by the cat.
Stopping in my tracks, I scolded him. “Allister? Have you moved in with your girlfriend? You rake!”
Everyone laughed, even Carson.
“Must be the St. James charm,” George beamed. “Gets them every time.”
I smiled and took my seat beside Carson. “Smells delicious.”
“It’s Carson’s favorite. I always try to make it when we come to visit.”
“It’s high protein too,” he added. “So it’s not too far off our eating plan.”
“Great. But I would have cheated for this. On the eating plan, I mean.”
We tucked into our food, moaning at the taste of cinnamon and maple.
“You’re lucky to have a mother who still wants to make your favorite foods. You’re spoiled, really. Did you know?”
He grinned. “I am aware.”
“Everyone has a favorite recipe that, no matter who makes it, doesn’t taste the same unless your mother makes it. George here loves his mother’s scones and clotted cream. It’s an old family recipe, and even though I have it, mine never tastes the same.”
I stuffed my face with more food, hoping to avoid the question.
“Gran’s have something special. Maybe it’s the butter or the water. Kind of like New York pizza has a particular taste because of the water used to make the dough.”
My head popped up. “I didn’t know that.”
Carson nodded. “Brooklyn pizza is my favorite. But I won’t turn it down anywhere. When we play the Kings, we can get some.”
My face split into a smile. “I forgot we get to see the US on the team’s dime.”
Elizabeth turned to me. “What’s your favorite thing your mother makes for you?”
My food suddenly sat like a brick in my stomach. I wiped my mouth, trying to stall enough to make something up. But I was tired of hiding. “I don’t have one.”
