Page 14 of My Merry Mistake
He peers at me sideways, and my breath hitches in the back of my throat at a memory I’ve tried to bury—and the reminder that he knows something about me that no one else does.
“It’s some fancy cream soda.”
I take the bottle. “Thanks.”
We stand there in silence for a few long seconds, close enough that I can feel the heat from his shoulder against my own. I take a drink, then look at the back of the bottle.
“It’s basically a bottle of liquid sugar,” he says, as if he knows what I’m looking at. “That’s why it’s so good.”
After a beat, I ask, “Where’s your yoga instructor?”
He chuckles. “She’s talking to the wives. And she’s not my anything.” He nods toward a small group of women on the other side of the deck. It feels a little like high school all over again.
I always kept myself on the outskirts of popularity—too focused on where I was going after high school to trouble myself with what was happening while I was there. I never really fit in with girls my age.
As if on cue, Kaylee and a few of the wives burst into laughter.
A litany of criticisms rolls through my brain:Too stand-offish. Frigid. Scary. Serious. No fun.If you hear those things enough, you start to believe them.
More than that, I started toownthem.
“She seems really nice,” I say.
He laughs. “You’re a terrible liar.”
Ugh. I thought I hid it better than that.
“Just be careful, okay?” I look at him now.
He frowns. “Careful? Why?”
“Look, I know they probably don’t have gold-digging content creators in Montana?—”
“They absolutely do, they’re just on horseback,” he jokes.
I shoot him a look, and his face sobers. “She just seems like maybe she’s looking at this as a networking opportunity, and not, you know, a celebration for her boyfriend’s friend.”
“I love how concerned you are about me, Hart.” He takes a drink from his own brown bottle—probablynotcream soda. “People might start talking if you keep carrying on like that.”
Flirty, as always. I brush it off, as always.
“I’m just thinking about the liability it could be for the team.”
“Right. Theteam,” he repeats.
“Yes, theteam,” I say right back. “If anyone’s going to get swindled out of all of his money by trusting the wrong person—it’s you.” I steel my jaw. “And that would be a PR nightmare.”
He frowns. “You really think I’m that stupid?”
“I mean . . .” I shrug a mockif the boot fits.
He lets out a laugh. “Huh. I didn’t realize you had a sense of humor tucked in there.”
I take another drink. “I’m full of surprises.”
“No doubt.”
There’s a moment of silence, almost comfortable, and I default into telling-people-what-to-do mode.
