“If the bloody annoying cap fits, then…” I had nothing else.
He spluttered. Another of my dorky retorts. Releasing a funny little noise, I leaned toward him and kicked his boot with mine.
He went quiet and held my eyes. “Hey. Am I allowed to say I like your outfit?”
“Yes, you may.”
He growled. “That bow.”
“What do you like about it?” I looked down at the pink floral loop on my chest.
“Mm, not certain.” He narrowed his eyes to concentrate. “Might need to inspect it closer?”
“You want to be close to my bow?” What made me say things like that when he was around?
“Yeah, something like that.” His gravelly voice dipped even lower, and he reached out. “Okay?”
I nodded.
He fastened his fingers around one of the ties and pulled on it gently, finger over finger, reeling me in, bringing my face closer and closer to his, holding my gaze the whole time, his eyes burning into me. His eyes dipped to my mouth, and my breath went short and shallow. My face was almost touching his. I bit my bottom lip. Hard.
His phone buzzed in his other hand, and unbelievably, he turned to check it.
I couldn’t help but see the texter—Macy.
Macy
Need you at home.
Who wasMacy? That was all I saw before he quickly dropped my tie and pulled back. I didn’t see the rest of the message, because he thrust his phone back into his pocket.
Why did he suddenly seem so stressed? So…anxious to leave.
“Actually, can’t do drinks. Sorry,” he said. “Something’s come up. Gotta race.”
It was a woman. Clearly, he had a better offer.
19
Tim
Idrove home withoutbreaking the speed limit. Just.
Macy had just texted that my sister had arrived. The news sent me into a tailspin. I’d tried to conceal Mum’s condition from my sister.I’d questioned that decision many times but ultimately came to the same conclusion—Amy had an amazing career that understandably took her to London.
Mum’s symptoms started to worsen six months ago—enough that I couldn’t discount them. She’d leave for the supermarket and not come home with groceries, she’d forget the names of people she’d worked with for thirty years, forget where she’d left her handbag when it was right in front of her. I’d started prepping Mum for Amy’s visits, which were about once every two weeks. Made sure she stayed in her routine and thatshe was well exercised, so she was calm and not fretting, and reminded her right before about what Amy was doing.
Because if Amy knew what was going on, I was positive she’d abandon her dream of an acting career in London and move back up here. And I was responsible for making sure she was able to pursue those dreams, because Dad had made me promise before he died two years ago. Amy was born with cerebral palsy, and at birth, doctors said she would probably need to use a wheelchair. After many years of hard work through physical therapy and surgeries, she was able to walk with a quad cane.
Though her passion was acting, she was determined to be financially independent and had studied tax law, graduating from law school with top honors. Because she tired easily, and she wanted to appear in productions for regional theaters in the evenings and weekends, she took a job that guaranteed a 5:00 p.m. finish time—as legal counsel for the accountancy firm Mum had worked for years in the back office. But Amy felt judged and constantly second-guessed by one of the new partners, and his opinions infected two of the workers. He’d even told her the only reason she was there was because of Mum and that they felt sorry for her. She was miserable and sad and struggled with depression. It’d had a deeply profound impact on her, and I wanted to make sure she never went through that again.
The minute Amy got wind of my plans for Mum, I knew she’d consider going back to working in an office to help pay for her care. I planned to win the show and have the money all set before Amy found out so that wasn’t even a consideration for her.
“Amy!” I rushed in the front door. “You should have called.”
I looked around. Macy had left already. Frantically, I searched Amy’s face for clues that something was wrong, a sign that Macy had straight up told her about Mum.
Amy stared up at me, and I scanned a face I knew as well as my own. Four years younger, and at five foot three, she was a foot shorter than me. Her brown eyes, the same as mine, were darkened with annoyance, and she shook her thick hair, a deeper brown than mine, against her cropped pink sweater. It was always disconcerting to see my face on her, but smaller, sweeter, her eyes lined with thick, black lashes. But there was nothing sweet about the way she stood in front of me.
