Page 75 of Just The Way You Aren't

"The short version is Mason fell in love and now he spends his days making babies and watching sunsets," Wyatt says. "A tragic waste of a brilliant business mind."

"That sounds wonderful, not tragic," Willow counters.

Wyatt laughs. "That's what Lucy says too. Mason's wife," he adds for Willow's benefit. "Feisty little thing. You'd like her."

I’m just about to dismiss Wyatt when he gets a calculating look in his eye that I don’t like. “So, Willow,” he says conversationally, “where are you from? You don’t seem to have a city edge about you.”

“No, I don’t. I grew up upstate, the Catskills area. My family’s homestead is there,” she responds, still smiling at me. Then she blinks and I get the impression she hadn’t meant to share that information.

“Really? A homestead. In the Catskills, no less. I’m sure Damien would love to see where you grew up,” he says, dropping the hammer on his scheme.

Oh, that sonofabitch. “I’m sure Willow doesn’t have time to take me?—”

“She must visit her family sometimes. Don’t you, Willow?” Wyatt’s brown eyes coax the answer from her.

She swallows. “Well, I am actually going there for vacation the weekend after the fundraiser…”

“See? I was right.” His smile widens. “Damien, have you ever been upstate?”

“Not that I can recall,” I grind out between clenched teeth.

“Well, what better time? You should take Willow, then you can meet the whole family. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Damien?”

Willow turns to me. “You would?”

I can’t very well say no at this point. “Sure. It sounds nice.” I manage a weak smile.

She looks very confused for a moment, then shrugs. “All right, I’ll let you know the details and you can come with me. It’s beautiful country.”

“It sounds like it,” I reply more sincerely.

Wyatt’s date sighs audibly, looking at her watch. "Wyatt."

"Right, of course." He squeezes her arm lightly—an affectionate gesture that somehow still feels impersonal. "We shouldn't keep you from your lunch." Then, to me, he adds in a lower voice, "Though at this rate, my friend, you're not going to win that bet."

"What bet?" Willow asks curiously.

Wyatt smiles, but all of his amusement is centered on me. On my discomfort now that he’s practically tossed a grenade into my lap. "Just a friendly wager among the poker group,” he says smoothly. “Nothing important."

"Ah," Willow says, sounding unconvinced, but not pressing further.

He turns to Jenna. "Shall we?"

As they walk away, I notice how Wyatt's hand barely touches the small of Jenna's back—a gesture that's perfectly correct yet somehow lacks genuine connection. At the door, they exchange a brief, perfunctory kiss, and then she's walking toward a waiting car while Wyatt heads in the opposite direction, already checking his phone.

Willow watches this with perceptive eyes. "He couldn'teven remember her name," Willow observes, then looks at me thoughtfully. "Do all the men in your poker group approach relationships that way?"

The question catches me off guard. I consider deflecting but find I don't want to.

"No," I admit quietly. "Not all of us."

We settle into our meal, the conversation flowing easily between us. The food is excellent, but I find myself watching Willow more than eating—the way she closes her eyes briefly when she tastes something particularly good, the way she gestures when she's excited about something.

When dessert arrives flambéed, she gasps in delight. "Oh, that's beautiful!"

"You should try it," I say, sliding it toward her.

She takes a bite and makes a small sound of pleasure that goes straight through me. "This is incredible."

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