Clarice takes a slow step toward me. “I wouldn’t care, like I said. But the others?Theywould care. They would care a lot. So if someone has abilities in that vein, they need to keep them very, very quiet.”
“Good thing I don’t know anyone like that,” I reply glumly, doing my best to ignore my wobbling stomach.
This wasn’t the news I wanted, but it’s not unexpected. Hearing that showing my abilities will only lead to pain stings in a way that’s impossible to ignore.
Clarice pulls her purse strap higher on her shoulder. “Why’re you asking about all this?”
“No reason.” I rub my arm nervously. “Just curious.”
“If there’s nothing else, I got a belly full of strawberry pretzel salad, and all that sugar’s making me sleepy. This old gal needs to hit the hay.”
I squeeze her arm. “Good night.”
“Night.”
I say goodbye to the rest of the group, sharing a long knowing look with Cristina, before I head into the house, where Stone is tossing trash in a garbage bag.
“Well,thatwas fun,” he says with a smirk and a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“Highlight of your day—fending off old ladies?”
He gives a mock bow. “Even if Icouldremember the past year, I would still say this was one of the best nights in it.”
He says it lightly, but his words land hard and make my stomach do this weird swooping thing.
Stone holds the bag open and I toss dirty plates inside. “Not to mention,” he continues, “I will now learn how to make strawberry pretzel salad and eat it every. Single. Day.”
A real laugh escapes me and I look up to see him smiling down. Light dances in his eyes, and one corner of his mouth tips up slightly higher than the other.
He watches me openly, studying me, and I feel completely exposed, as if there’s no secret he can’t see.
Which is really bad seeing as how ... well, you know.
“So how did you wind up in a book club with all those ladies?”
“Oh, that started as a group chat to find eligible bachelors.”
His brows lift. “For you?”
“No.” I chuckle. “For ladies of a certain age. And somehow it wound up becoming that.”
“Do you like it?”
“Yeah, I do,” I tell him as affection spreads through me. “I love those ladies, and they don’t mind that I’m me.”
He frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, you know.”
“No, I don’t.”
He watches me carefully and I shake my head. It’s too much to explain. “They just accept me for who I am.”
“Don’t most people? Don’t you acceptyoufor who you are?”
“Sure. I mean, yeah.”I guess.How did this conversation get so deep, so fast? “I mean, what I’m saying is that sometimes when people see the messy, they don’t ...”
“Stick around?”
