Liar liar liar liar liar liar.
Adam let out a breath, as if he’d been holding it. “I know Grace has held a torch for you for a while now, so any attention from you could make her think there was something going on. You know what I mean?”
Jaime, though, couldn’t respond. Grace has held a torch for me? Of course, now that he thought about it, it made sense, given how she’d always acted around him. Perhaps a part of him had known, but he’d dismissed it as a schoolgirl crush.
“I’m not going to take advantage of your sister,” Jaime ground out, his heart still pounding at Adam’s revelation. “If that’s what you’re asking.”
I’m not going to dream about her, or think about her. Because she isn’t mine to have.
“Okay, yes, that’s what I was asking.” Adam cleared his throat again. “Just, be careful, Jaime. You could break her heart without even realizing it.”
Jaime almost laughed. Adam had no idea—no idea. He had no idea that even if he held Grace’s heart, she was the one who could destroy him with the smallest of smiles.
“Now that this awkward conversation is over, how about a drink? Oh, and I meant to ask you: do you want to come over for Thanksgiving? You know you’re always welcome.” Adam got up without Jaime responding, opening the door. “I think we should open a bottle of that red we just got in.”
“Sure, sounds good.” Jaime followed him, but he hardly heard anything else that was said. He knew that Adam was looking out for Grace. He knew that. At the same time, she was a grown woman who was capable of her own decisions. Did she really need her older brother intervening on her behalf? He couldn’t imagine she’d ask Adam to come talk to him on her behalf.
Adam poured him a glass of the red. “So how about it? Join us for Thanksgiving?”
Jaime took a sip, knowing the answer he should give. But because he seemed incapable of making good decisions lately, he replied, “Yeah, I’ll come.”
Chapter Seven
Grace peeled the potatoes with such force that more than one poor spud was a mere nub of its former self. Quickly tossing the offending potatoes in the trash so her mother wouldn’t see, she forced herself to peel only the brown peels.
I’m not freaking out. I’m not freaking out. I’m. Not. Freaking. Out.
“Grace, do you know where the potholder is?” her mother Julia asked.
Grace jumped, the peeler clattering into the sink.
“Goodness, you’re so on edge today!” Julia plucked the potholder from around her daughter, giving Grace a concerned look. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Just have a lot on my mind.” Grace turned and began peeling, slowly and without destroying the potato in hand.
Julia didn’t say anything, but Grace could feel her mother’s gaze on the back of her neck.
“Well, let me know if you need any help.”
Grace had been like this since Adam had so helpfully told her that they’d be having a guest for Thanksgiving: none other than Jaime himself. Of course he was coming for Thanksgiving, Grace thought, her face turning into one of irritation as she tossed the peeled potato in the nearby bowl. I can’t get away from the man!
Jaime had attended the Danvers’ Thanksgiving before, usually when he was too busy to get home to St. Louis or, in the beginning, couldn’t afford the trip back. From what Grace understood, the Martínez family enjoyed Thanksgiving but didn’t consider it a vital holiday, so they didn’t press Jaime to make it back, that was saved for Christmas.
Grace told herself she could sit far away from Jaime and not even look at him. She didn’t have to say anything. She could serve food and replenish plates and do the dishes and she could sink into her chair and act like nothing was wrong and it would work splendidly.
Looking at the third potato nub in her hand, she had a feeling she was in deep, deep denial.
“How’s the cooking going, ladies?” Carl kissed Julia on the cheek before coming around Grace’s shoulder. “I know I’m no cook, but I’m thinking we’ll need more potatoes than that for mashed potatoes.”
Grace forced a smile. “This peeler is just too peel-y,” she explained lamely. “I keep peeling more potato than peel.”
“Well, let your mother take over so you don’t ruin all of the potatoes. You know that’s my favorite part of Thanksgiving.”
Grace nodded, swallowing hard. Normally she didn’t mind that her father didn’t help with the cooking and expected she and her mother to do it. Normally she just brushed off her father’s criticisms. But today she found herself thinking, If you’re so concerned, why not actually help for once?
Carl Danvers was an odd amalgam of old, conservative values with the occasional ability to adopt change when he thought it necessary. He was the one who hired Jaime, the one who first had the idea to do events at River’s Bend, and who wanted his daughter to make something of herself instead of simply marrying and settling down. But those conservative values reared their heads often, and in this case, he had the expectation that the women cooked and the men waited to eat the food those women cooked.
Grace watched as her father stuck his finger in the gravy Julia was cooking, and then watched as her mother slapped his hand away playfully.
The kitchen felt small and pressing, the sudden sensation overwhelming. Grace had never minded living at home so much as she had within the last few weeks, when the ground had been shifting with every step. It wasn’t so much a tidal wave of feeling but one that crept up on her, encircling her throat until she could barely breathe.
The thought of having Thanksgiving with her family seemed unbearable now.
“Grace, did you apply to any of the job listings I sent you?” Carl asked, plucking a roll that had just come out of the oven and biting into it. “You can’t keep working at Trudy’s forever.”
Grace turned, staring at the sink full of brown ribbons of peels. She hadn’t opened her father’s email because she didn’t want to work in an office, making coffee and copies and answering phones until her brain melted through her ears.
“No, I haven't had time,” she answered, trying to sound like she was going to look at the email soon. “And I don't mind working at Trudy’s.”
“Of course you don’t,” he said behind her. “You don’t have to pay rent or the electric bill and so you can make minimum wage for as long as you want.”
“Carl,” Julia warned.
Grace picked up a potato and began peeling it with quick movements. “You know I’d contribute if I could. I pay for my own groceries.”
Carl sighed, like Grace were the greatest disappointment in the history of the Danvers family. “And yet who was the one who wouldn’t listen and decided to get a degree in art? Didn’t I warn you this was where you’d end up if you stuck to that plan?”
“Carl!” her mother remonstrated. “It’s Thanksgiving. Can we do this later?”
“I’m only saying what the girl needs to hear. She made a decision that wasn’t a good one, and now she’s going to have to fix it. She can’t live in our house forever.”