Page 79 of Finding Storm

I even made more of an effort tonight in my appearance. Not too much so it’s noticeable. If I did, Beck would catch it straightaway, figure out it’s because of Nick, and tease me mercilessly.

And I really don’t want to go to prison for murdering my brother.

I just put my hair in a sleek ponytail instead of my usual messy bun. A little mascara and lip balm. And I have on pale blue jeans with no rips and my white ruffle-sleeved, baby-doll top.

I realize we actually match. Both wearing blue jeans and white tops.

Except his jeans are a darker blue and his top is a T-shirt and—

Christ, shut up, Stevie.

“You look really nice,” he says like, once again, he just read my mind. “Pretty,” he adds, and my stomach riots along with my chest.

“Oh, uh”—I touch a hand to my hair—“thanks. You too. Okay, so why don’t you take a seat? And I’ll go grab some drinks.” I gesture to the table.

He’s still smiling at me, and it’s making me even more flustered and heated.

“Any specific seat?” he asks. “Or …”

“Sit anywhere. We’re not precious.”

I watch Nick take a seat at the six-seater table, leaving the heads of the table open, probably for Dad and Gran.

I don’t know why, but I really like his respectful ways.

I was raised to always treat others with respect.

Gran always said to me, growing up, “Treat people the way you want to be treated, Stevie. You give kindness; you’ll get it back.”

Although that didn’t actually work out that way for me with my ex. I treated him like a king. And he shit all over me.

Still, I won’t ever change my ways because of a narcissistic asshole like him.

“Right, well, what can I get you to drink? There’s beer, wine … Dad and Beck usually have a beer with dinner.”

“What do you usually have?”

“Beer.” I smile, and so does he. “Gran’s the wine drinker in this house.”

“Then, I’ll have a beer too.”

And why him wanting to have the same drink as me does funny things to my heart, I’ll never know.

I turn on my heel, heading back into the kitchen, my heart pounding.

“Nick’s here,” I tell her.

“Good. It’s ready. Can you call your brother and dad for me?”

I slide my cell from my pocket and call Dad. I’m not walking clear across the B&B to get him when I have the power to tell him right there in my back pocket.

“Dinner ready?” Dad says on the answer.

“Yep.”

“Coming now.”

I slide my phone back in my pocket and open the refrigerator. I get out four beers and the wine. Grab a glass and pour Gran’s drink. She only ever has one glass a night. Two if it’s a special occasion. I pop the caps on the beer. Tucking two of them under my arm, two in one hand, and the glass of wine in the other, I carry them through to the dining room.