Lainie squeaked.
Mitch’s face squeezed into the Skype frame. “Tell him I lovedBlood Brothers! AndFaster than the Speed of Sound! Tell him I said, ‘Daaaamn, Son—’”
Britt clapped her laptop closed.
She turned to look at J. T., who looked sleepy and delicious clothed in nothing but shadows.
“So...” she said brightly after a longish silence. “My sister just Skyped.”
“Yeah? How is she?”
“She’s great.”
A funny little silence fell.
“How much did you hear?” she asked resignedly.
“Just the horse part.” He smiled faintly. “But I already knew that.”
Another uncomfortable little moment beat by.
She ought to say,You’re notjusta horse to me.
But that might bring up uncomfortable questions about what he actually was to her, and it was much too early in the morning to have that conversation.
She’d prefer never to have it, actually.
“Okay, then. Well, there’s something else you should know,” she began carefully.
“I think I know it. I got a congratulatory text from my agent. He thinks you’re cute.”
He handed Britt his phone, and it was open to the photos.
Britt’s heart lurched. There she was with J. T. exiting Maison Vert. They were both smiling, her head turned toward him, his hand possessively on the small of her back just shy of her butt. Nothing said “we’re doing it” like that particular pose.
Perfidious maître d’ had probably sold them out, even after J. T. had given him a fifty!
But the second photo was much more unnerving.
There she was sprawled on her stomach, the ends of her bikini top trailing against the rock, her knees bent up, her feet crossed. He lay alongside her on his back, one knee up, the other tipped companionably against her calves. Their heads were turned toward each other. They were smiling. It was a breathtaking moment of casual intimacy violated by a telephoto lens.
She didn’t think she’d seen any two happier or peaceful-looking people. It was stunning.
It was peculiarly disorienting to watch it from the outside. Because anyone watching that would assume things about how they felt about each other.
And yet the fact that the photo existed at all was deeply creepy.
She gave the calendar on the wall an unconscious flick of a glance. It was July31.
That wedding in Napa was just two weeks away.
“Gosh. Tell your agent thanks.” But her voice was abstracted. And a little thick.
Someone had thought it worth hiking up to that rise to get that photo, and neither one of them had noticed. They looked happy because they were happy in that moment, and they were completely absorbed in each other.
“I’m sorry about this,” he said quietly.
“Don’t be. I look great in that dress.”
