Page 29 of Sing For Me

She worries her lower lip, which only makes me stare at them. “No. That wassounprofessional. I have to tell Cass. Actually, you should fire me.”

I force myself to meet her eyes. “What did he say to you?”

I expect her to say something truly heinous, because Reeseisa professional. Cass is always talking about how Reese is one of the resort’s “biggest assets.” I used to think my sister said stuff like that to make me feel bad about what happened between me and Reese. But I always knew Cassandra wasn’t wrong. Besides the way Reese had turned the whole restaurant around with her skillful hiring and management, I’d watched her on the floor before. Where some of the servers looked stressed at the busiest times and zipped around the restaurant with strained faces, Reese took care of problems in a way that made people feel almost happy they’d had them. They smiled when she left their tables. And when she moved between her tasks, it was with an efficient kind of ease and grace that was so practiced, so confident, she made me think of a dancer.

Or a singer, with a single arm up on stage. Except quiet.

But Reese shakes her head. “It wasn’t really what he said to me.”

It’s only then that I understand she’s not just pissed about what happened. She’s rattled.

I suddenly feel like an ass for clapping. Then my mind darts off like an angry hornet. “Wait, did hedosomething?” Visions of that prick groping her or making a lewd gesture run through my head, even if it doesn’t make sense—he wasn’t alone.

“No,” Reese says quickly. But before I can prod her further, the restroom door swings open.

My hackles fly up to full mast as the guy emerges, his pants still darkened, though I can tell he’s done his best to dry them off.

I want to go after him. I want to murder the fucking guy. My fist even closes, but I force it open again.Temper, Eli. Fucking temper.

Instead I step in front of Reese. If he so much as looks our way… But the guy’s eyes aren’t on us as he begins to cut stiffly across the restaurant. They’re on the rest of the patrons staring at him, some of them whispering to each other.

And they’re on his table. His eyes narrow when he sees it empty.

Humiliation wafts off him like a bad smell as he practically runs out of L’Aubergine into the lobby, then turns the corner fast out Rolling Hills’ front door into the blustery October morning.

The tension immediately slips from my shoulders when he’s gone.

“Okay,” I say. “All good. Asshole out.”

But when I turn, I see Reese doesn’t look relieved. Her eyes are wet.

My stomach bucks. I don’t think when I see her tears; I take her by the hand and tug her through the open door into the kitchen.

A couple of staff avert their eyes as we pass. Clearly, they saw the show.

I ignore them, bringing Reese right in next to me. Her eyes flicker to her staff and I can feel her straightening, but she also doesn’t pull away from me.

“Come on,” I say as I guide Reese toward the back. “Ignore them.”

Mom always said I felt the most, in our family.You wear everyone’s feelings like your own,Eli.

The only one who meets my eyes when I pass is Rufus, who looks as pissed as I feel, seeing Reese so small. He gives me a brief nod.

Then we’re through the door.

We’re still holding hands, and as much as I want to sweep her into my arms, I know better. I let her go when she pulls away, looking at the photo on the wall next to her dog of a happy family. It’s her sister, I realize, with her husband Will, an old buddy of mine from Jewel Lakes, and their four girls.

Reese and I met the same day her sister met Will. We’d been at the park that day, me and Will, and he recognized Michelle as an old friend of his brother’s.

Now look at them—in love. Happy as hell.

I’m ashamed of the brief wash of envy I feel just glancing at that photo. What they have—it’s all I ever wanted. And maybe the dog, too.

I look away, refocusing on Reese.

“I shouldn’t have done that with the drink.” Reese grimaces, running her hand up over her hair, smoothing it back before dropping her hand again. “I’m going to have to go talk to Cass before the guy complains. He’s definitely going to complain. So stupid. I let my temper get the best of me.”

“Trust me. I know what that’s like.” I was always the kid in our family who’d blow up when I saw a minor injustice. Nothing noble I don’t think, more like, someone’s cup of Kool-Aid was a millimeter fuller than the rest of us.

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