Page 53 of The Love You Fight For
“Yet?” She tilts her chin up and narrows her eyes. “Who says there will be a next time?”
I run my eyes over her face. Take note of the way her pupils flare and her chest rises and falls more quickly. The way she shifts on her feet and her pulse thrums in her neck. A flush of color returns to her pallid cheeks, and I reach up and drag my knuckles over her jaw. Her breath hitches, and I press my thumb to her pulse point. I lean down and put my lips to her ear.
“You do, princess. Your whole body says there will be a next time.”
She pulls back just enough that our cheeks brush, and I consider kissing her right here, but then my niece shouts “WATCH OUT”and all thoughts of a kiss vanish.
Sam and I jump apart just in time to see a pink remote-control car come zooming through the living room. The car runs into Sam’s foot, then backs up into my foot before looping around us and zooming back out again.
“Sorry, Uncle Chris,” Cheyenne shouts from somewhere in the house.
Then Luke, Lucy, and Evie go bolting past us after the remote-control car.
“Sorry, Uncle Chris!”
“Sorry, Uncle Chris!”
“Sorry, Uncle Casper!”
I chuckle. Uncle Casper is new. Evie usually just calls me Casper, but I’m not mad about it. I turn my smile toward Sam, but she’s still staring in the direction of the car.
“Was there a rodent in that car?” she says finally, and I bark out a laugh.
“Probably.”
She blinks at me.
“Probably?”
I shrug.
“Chy has a hamster named Puma. He’s pretty chill. He was probably in the car.”
She gives me a surprised smile, scrunching her nose up in disbelief. Fuck me, she’s beautiful.
“Really?” She laughs.
I nod.
“Yep. Really. Now, c’mon before they think we skipped out on the party.”
I put my hand on her shoulder and steer her into the kitchen. I introduce her to my dad and Michael, but my sister is noticeably absent. When the rest of the kids arrive for the party, it’s not as obvious that Tiff is avoiding Sam, but I can tell, and I’m pretty sure Sam can tell, too.
I watch her cautiously and the way she interacts with everyone.
Her posture is easy and natural with Lennon, but with everyone else—even Macon—there’s a rigidity to her. Michael engages her in conversation for a while, and I overhear him telling her about his prosthetics and his plans for the Boston Marathon. She laughs. She asks questions. When he mentions that a car accident took his legs, she expresses sympathy. She tells him how amazing it is that he’s accomplished so much since then. She’s rightfully in awe of my brother-in-law, but there’s still a level of discomfort in her that I can’t ignore.
It’s made worse when she has a stilted conversation with my father, and exacerbated further when she attempts to talk to my sister, only to be blown off entirely. Sam stands awkwardly in the yard next to the food table and watches as my sister walks back into the house.
“Here.” I hand Sam a plate. She takes it but doesn’t speak. “This barbeque is supposedly some of the best in the county. Masterfully rubbed, smoked to perfection, and the sauce is a secret recipe.”
I put a hamburger bun on her plate, then use the serving tongs to put a large portion of barbeque pork on top of it. When I reachfor the coleslaw, she throws a hand over her plate and shakes her head.
“Are you allergic?” I ask.
“No,” she says.
“Have you tried it before?”
