Page 53 of Falling For My Ex's Older Brother

Sonia smiles. "Of course."

She pivots smoothly to a question about the Meridian board situation she'd mentioned in Boston, and I engage because the information is genuinely useful and because ending the conversation abruptly would communicate something I'm not prepared to communicate. We speak for four minutes. She touches my arm once — the gesture she always uses, familiar and practiced.

I wrap it up cleanly. She accepts it the way she always does — gracefully, without visible reaction. As she moves back into the room I track her direction without meaning to. She crosses toward the bar. Toward Sutton. I'm twenty feet away and in conversation and I can't hear a word of what passes between them. What I can see is Sutton's posture — straight, composed, giving nothing away. Whatever Sonia says, Sutton absorbs it without a visible crack. She responds with two sentences. Then she steps away and moves back into the room.

I read her face from across the space. Somethingis sitting behind her eyes that wasn't there an hour ago. She's filed it — whatever it was — but she's carrying it. I know her well enough now to know the difference between her resting composure and her working composure. That was the second one.

Thirty minutes later I'm in conversation with two foundation board members when I see Sutton across the room she’s standing with two men.

I know the first man, Harrison — real estate, fifties, the kind of man who is good at making people feel heard because it serves him professionally and personally in equal measure. He's talking to her with his full attention, his body angled toward her in a way I clock immediately. The younger man beside him — whose name I can’t recall, but he’s a portfolio manager, mid-forties — is doing the same thing.

I keep talking to the board members. I make two substantive points. I ask one question. I look across the room again. Harrison leans in slightly when he speaks. Sutton says something and he laughs — genuinely, the laugh of a man who is enjoying himself. The other one leans in to add something.

I stay where I am. I keep the conversation moving. I make two substantive points and ask one question that redirects the discussion toward the outcome I came for. I look across the room again and I can’t help to notice how Harrison leans in slightly when he speaks. Sutton says something and he laughs. I shift my position — not toward her, just to a vantage point where I can see the conversation more clearly. I watch her wrap it up. Sheexchanges cards with Harrison and moves on without looking back in my direction.

Twenty minutes later, I’m still with the board members when something shifts. I look toward the entrance — and there they are; my mother in burgundy, my father a half step behind her, the two of them pausing at the entrance the way they always pause, taking inventory of a room before committing to it. I have approximately thirty seconds.

I glance across the room. Sutton is already looking at me — she's read the shift in my posture before I've said a word. She makes her way to my side.

"My parents," I say quietly. "I should have—"

"It's fine," she says. "Introduce me."

We cross the room together.

"Logan." My mother reaches for me first. She always does. I hold her briefly and step back.

"Mom." I turn. "Dad."

My father extends his hand. "Logan." Firm. Direct. His eyes move to Sutton immediately.

They both look at her.

"This is Sutton Kane," I say. "She's—"

"His date," Sutton says. She extends her hand to my mother.

"It's lovely to meet you."

My mother takes her hand and doesn't immediately release it. She looks at Sutton the way she looks at everything she's forming an opinion about — directly, without apology. My mother has spent forty yearsin rooms like this one. She reads people accurately and quickly and she does not soften her assessments.

I watch her face. The warmth that moves in is genuine. I've seen my mother be polite a thousand times. This is not that.

"Sutton." She smiles.

"What a lovely name." She glances at me — the look that means she's already decided something.

"How long have you and Logan—"

"We work together," I say.

"We do," Sutton agrees. "And I'm his date tonight."

My mother releases her hand and steps slightly closer to her.

"Well. I'm very glad he brought someone." She looks at me directly.

"He usually doesn't."