“Not at all,” I said quickly.
Before Trisha could respond, Thomas’s voice carried across the room. “Hey, babe—can you come here for a second?” He lifted his coffee in a half-wave in my direction, then turned back to the group gathered near the windows, who looked like they were in some sort of heated debate.
Trisha swept a curl from Emma’s forehead before turning to me. “You don’t mind if she sits with you for a minute, do you?”
“Not at all,” I said easily. “I’m enjoying her company.”
Emma watched her mother walk away, then turned back to me, her feet swinging under the table like she didn’t have a care in the world. “I thought you’d be taller,” she said, grinning around a mouthful of pancake.
I laughed despite myself. “Why’s that?”
She shrugged. “My Uncle Dean is way bigger than you.”
I hid my smile behind my napkin. “I’m five foot nine.”
She blinked as though unimpressed, then stabbed another piece of pancake and shoved it into her already full cheeks.
“Do you think you should slow down—?” I asked, nudging her cup away from her elbow so she wouldn’t knock it over.
Just then, Blair passed by our table in a rush, skin pale, shoulders hunched, gaze fixed straight ahead as she headed for the bathroom.
My stomach tightened instantly.
I’d seen that look before. The panic behind the eyes. The way her body moved as though she were trying to outrun something that was about to erupt from inside her.
I glanced around the room, half-expecting someone to stand. To follow her. To notice…
No one did.
Laughter continued. Conversation flowed like nothing had happened at all.
I told myself to stay where I was. That it wasn’t my place. But something prickled along my spine.
She didn’t just look like she was about to throw up.
She looked scared.
Against my better judgement, I placed the napkin over my plate and pushed back my chair. “Will you excuse me?” I said to Emma, “I’ll be right back. I forgot to wash my hands.”
I flashed her a reassuring grin and moved before she could ask to come with me.
The moment I stepped inside the bathroom, my pulse quickened. The air was cool and smelled faintly of lavender, and the hum of silence broke with the sharp, miserable sound of someone retching.
My own stomach lurched reflexively.
I turned back toward the door, locked it behind me, and then stepped closer to the stalls, my footsteps quiet and careful. “Blair?” I asked. “Are you okay? Can I get you anything? Some water maybe?”
A pause. Then a muffled voice, “I’m fine.”
But she wasn’t fine.
Not even a little.
I stayed where I was, leaning against the opposite wall, giving her space while silently hoping she’d decide to let me help.
She’d looked so unsteady earlier that I pictured her knees buckling, her head hitting porcelain, and the image alone was enough to make my palms damp.
Then the stall door creaked open.
