Page 51 of Mess With Me

“How—what—” Jude sputters. Thankfully he’s head over heels in love with Sasha’s best friend back in London. Though I don’t know why I’m thankful about this or why I even care.

My nephew Cap pops up from where he was hidden behind the back of his bench. “Uncle Griff!”

“Thank Christ,” I mutter. At least I’ll have someone to hang out with.

But Sasha’s not done. “Oh my God—Cap!” She runs over to the booth, picking the boy up and swinging him around in a hug.

She sets him down. “Oh my gosh, you’re huge! I didn’t know they made nine-year-olds this big!”

He looks embarrassed, smoothing down his hair, but he grins all the same. “I’m the second tallest in my class.”

“This couldn’t have gone any worse,” I grumble.

“Nice to see you, too,” Jude says, clapping me on the back.

I throw a glare at him, but he’s looking at Sasha. Now I am, too. She’s chatting with Cap, asking him about school and skateboarding and admiring his cool new jean jacket.

Everything could be a lot worse, all things considered. And she was right, of course—as much as I would have felt better keeping her at home, the risk of her being out in Quince Valley is low. We talked on the way over about how she shouldn’t use her last name when introducing herself to anyone, even though not a lot of people here pay attention to big city politics.

I should be able to relax, but I can’t stop thinking about my conversation with Lionel and the rock and the very hard place he’s put me between.

But when Cap looks up at me, saying something about us sitting with them, I force myself to come back to the present. I have a couple of days to figure this out, and for now, Sasha’s safe with me.

I can tell Jude’s dying to ask me what the hell I’m doing with his girlfriend’s friend—a woman he caught me staring at back at our brother’s wedding, I remember now.

“So we were just leaving,” he begins.

I eye the bill on the table, a credit card lying on top of it. “Great.” I look to my nephew. “No offense, Cap. Just want a little alone time.”

“Alone time?” Cap asks. “Like to—”

“Happy to take your table,” I tell his dad before he can finish his thought.

“Actually, now that you’re here, I think Cap could probably go for a milkshake.”

“Sounds good to me!” Cap says enthusiastically.

I narrow my eyes at my nephew.

He shrugs sheepishly. “Uncle Griff,” he whispers, “Betsey’s isn’t exactly the best place to come for alone time.”

He’s right. Plus, I can’t fault a growing kid for tossing loyalty aside to snag a milkshake.

“Have a seat,” Jude says.

Nothing much I can do now that Sasha slides into the booth, saying, “This is such a nice surprise!”

Is it?I clench my jaw and sit next to Cap. But as soon as I’m seated, I offer him a below-the-table fist bump. We both look straight ahead as he returns it. Sneaky fist bumps are our cool uncle-nephew thing we try not to share with anyone.

But that jealousy I never asked for comes back hot when I look up to see my brother—who still graces billboards from time to time thanks to his stint in pro tennis—whisper something in Sasha’s ear. She laughs heartily, throwing her head back.

I lean down to my nephew. “Don’t suppose you’d take twenty bucks tonothave a milkshake?”

“Twenty bucks?”

“That not enough? Forty? That’d keep you in milkshakes for a few weeks.”

Cap rubs his jaw thoughtfully.

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