Page 93 of If You Claim Me
“Hey! Hi! Oh my God. Wow.” Everly is about ninety percent of the way to a full-on freak-out, and I could not love it more. “You’re Connor Grace. Full disclosure, I’m not really into hockey, or like, sporty guys, but”—she gives him a double thumbs-up—“I like the suit.” She turns back to me and mouths,he’s hot.
I motion for Victor to join us. “Connor, I’d like you to meet Everly and Victor. They volunteer at the library with me.”
“I’m only helping out because I need forty hours of community service to graduate, and also I got caught doing naughty things with a cute boy in the stacks.” Everly wrinkles her nose and shrugs, likeoops.
“Everly!” Victor chastises.
Connor smirks. “Was it my wife who caught you?”
I should not love the waymy wifesounds coming out of his mouth.
“Uh-huh.” Everly nods. “Better her than Dorothea, that’s for sure. A library ban would suck.” She flips her hair over her shoulder. “Then where would I get my cookies and juice boxes after school?”
“I do love a good juice box and cookie.” Connor’s amusement is written all over his face.
“But you love a good ham and cheese sandwich more,” I fire back.
“Same!” Everly exclaims, apparently thrilled to have this in common. “But don’t ruin it with lettuce, am I right?”
“Definitely no lettuce,” Connor agrees.
The emcee makes an announcement that dinner will be served soon.
“We should find Cordelia.” Victor takes his sister by the elbow. “It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Grace. Thanks for inviting us, Dred. It’s been amazing.”
“We’ll dance later, okay?”
“I love dancing!” Everly exclaims.
Victor smiles and nods, then guides her across the room, stopping to grab an hors d’oeuvre from a passing server on the way.
“They’re siblings?” Connor asks.
“Twins.”
“She’s the one you were talking about to the kitchen staff.” His palm settles on my low back as he guides me to the head table.
“She is.” I smile fondly.
“And they live in a group home?”
“They do.”
“She’s a little wild, but Victor seems easy,” he observes.
“She is, and he is, but he won’t be separated from her, and she has a hard time staying out of trouble.” Last year I started the paperwork to become a foster parent, but as a single woman under thirty, with a modest income, and living in a small two-bedroom apartment, the odds were against me.
“So they’re stuck in the system,” Connor says.
“Until they age out, unfortunately.”
Connor helps me into my seat, adjusting my dress so it doesn’t get caught under the chair’s legs.
He presses a gentle kiss to my shoulder, whether for my benefit, or that of the guests we’re on display for, I’m unsure.Cameras flash and click as I tip my chin up and touch my husband’s cheek.
“There are an awful lot of photographers here,” I murmur.
His eyes search mine, fingers skimming under my chin. “My father allowed media access just until dinner. They’ll be gone soon.”
