Page 52 of The Summer We Lie

"What he said," Harper agrees. "Oh, and their oysters on the half shell are so good."

"Ooo, I want that," Skye says with genuine excitement, a flash of unguarded enthusiasm lighting up her features.

"I'll get some for the app," I offer, my voice dropping slightly lower than intended, rougher around the edges. "So look over the menu when you get it and see what sounds good for your meal."

"Yes, sir," Skye responds.

Harper laughs, but my eyes lock with Skye's immediately. I don't think she meant it that way, but as soon as the words leave her mouth, we exchange a loaded look. Hers says "oh shit" and mine says "don't test me." The air between us crackles with unspoken tension. Heat pools in my stomach at the memory of those same words spoken in a very different context earlier today.

Thankfully, Harper catches none of it since our waiter chooses that exact moment to approach, distributing menus around the table with practiced efficiency.

"Good evening. My name is Michael, and I'll be your server tonight," he says, launching into the specials. "Tonight we have a dry-aged ribeye with a bourbon glaze, pan-seared scallops with truffle risotto, and a Colorado lamb with mint chimichurri..."

I don't pay attention to the rest because I already know what I'm ordering. Instead, I'm acutely aware of Skye's leg pressed against mine under the table, and how she hasn't moved it away. Is she doing this on purpose? Testing my control in public, with my daughter sitting right across from us? The tiny points where our bodies connect seem to burn hotter with each passing second.

Two can play that game. I shift slightly, pressing my thigh more firmly against hers while maintaining a perfectly neutral expression as I scan the menu I've memorized from dozens of business dinners here. A subtle power play that only she can feel, a silent reminder of who's really in control here.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Skye

I barely keep it together as Dom shifts his leg, deliberately pressing it harder against mine. Is he actually fucking with me right now? With his daughter sitting right across from us? My heart hammers so loudly in my chest I swear everyone in the restaurant must hear it, like a bass drum announcing my complete unraveling to the entire dining room.

"We'll take an order of oysters on the half shell to start, two glasses of Eroica Riesling, and an Old Fashioned," Dom tells the waiter, his voice perfectly steady. Not a single tremor or hint that he's doing anything inappropriate. Meanwhile, I'm melting into a puddle beneath the table, my nerves firing like lightning across every inch of skin where we connect.

"I'll be right back with the drinks and bread," the waiter says, walking away with a professional nod.

I quickly open my menu and start scanning it, desperate for a distraction from the solid heat of Dom's thigh against mine. The heavy, expensive paper trembles slightly in my fingers as I try to focus on the words swimming before me. After reading through the entire thing twice, I'm still completely lost. Everything sounds complicated and fancy, with ingredients I've never heard of—reductions and foams and things dusted with exotic spices.

"What are you guys getting?" I ask, glancing up and trying to keep my voice from cracking. "Everything looks so good."

Harper laughs, tossing her hair over one shoulder. "Dad always gets the same thing."

"I just know what I like," Dom says with a casual shrug, his leg still firmly pressed against mine, the pressure sending waves of heat through my body. His deep voice has this way of making simple statements sound loaded with meaning.

"No, you're just old and set in your ways," Harper shoots back with affectionate teasing, her green eyes sparkling with the easy comfort of their relationship.

"Same thing," Dom replies, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly in that barely-there smile that does ridiculous things to my insides.

"What do you get?" I ask him, trying to sound normal while my skin feels like it's on fire.

"The ribeye," he answers simply, his dark eyes meeting mine for a brief, electric moment. "If there's steak, that's what I'm getting." The way he says it—so definitive, so assured—makes me wonder how he applies that certainty to other areas of his life.

I turn to Harper, hoping my face doesn't betray the riot happening inside me, the confusing mix of panic and pleasure. "What about you, Harp?"

"I think I'm going with the miso glazed Chilean sea bass," she says, then leans forward conspiratorially, her freckles catching the low restaurant lighting. "But tell me what you're thinking. I've tried almost everything they have."

"How's the Maine lobster linguine?" I ask, zeroing in on something that sounds vaguely familiar amid the sea of intimidating culinary terms. My parents never took us to places like this—we were strictly a chain restaurant family on special occasions.

Her face lights up, beautiful and animated. "So good. You will love it. I was actually about to suggest that for you."

"Okay, I'll do that," I say, setting my menu down with relief at having made a decision. Dom shifts again, adjusting his position so his thigh presses even more firmly against mine, and I have to bite my lip hard to keep from making a sound that would definitely not be appropriate for this elegant setting.

"So how are Justin and Mom doing?" Harper asks, mercifully oblivious to the secret game of pressure and restraint happening beneath the pristine white tablecloth.

I grab my water glass, needing something to do with my hands before I do something stupid like grab Dom's thigh in return. The cool glass is a stark contrast to how feverish I feel. "They're good. I FaceTimed them the other night." I take a long, desperate sip before continuing, trying to focus on my family instead of the man beside me. "Mom got a lawyer."

"Ooo, really?" Harper perks up, her eyebrows rising with genuine interest. That's what I love about her—she actually cares about my family's drama.