Page 55 of One Good Move

Jake stares at his phone for a moment before his fingers start flying across the screen. He’s quiet, concentrating on the message before finally looking up at me. “I’m really sorry, Si. I have to go. Something’s come up.” He shovels the last couple of bites of lasagna into his mouth before pushing his chair away from the table and bringing his plate into the kitchen.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, setting down my fork.

“It will be,” he answers. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

“Jake, does this have anything to do with the girl that you’re seeing? And when will you introduce me to her? I feel like I’m in the dark, and I want to know what’s happening in your life.”

Fuck. Did I really just say that? Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.

“It’s just… it’s her daughter. She thinks she broke her arm. She’s taking her to emergency, and I said I would meet her there,” he says, scrubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “Sorry, Si, but are you okay if we wrap up tonight a little earlier than planned?”

“Of course,” I say, following him to the door. “Will you let me know how she is?”

“I will. And I’m sorry. Dinner was incredible. Tasted just like Mom’s. She’d probably get her feelings hurt if she knew how good you make it.”

I smile. He’s probably right. And then, because I just can’t seem to help myself, I stick my nose back where it doesn’t belong. “You know, I’m sure this girl means something to you, but if that’s the case, shouldn’t you be smiling more? Isn’t that what’s supposed to happen when you’re in a new, exciting relationship? You’ve just seemed pretty distant lately, and I don’t understand why.”

He sighs and for the briefest of seconds I think I see hurt in his eyes. “She has a lot going on with her daughter,” he begins, then pauses and starts over. “She’s just been through a lot, and I’m trying to be patient and take things slow. That’s it.”

“Okay. I just want you to be happy. I worry about you.”

“I’m happy. I promise.” I follow him to the door, and he hugs me before walking to his car. “Thanks again for dinner.”

I watch his truck pull out of my driveway. I had been nervous at the thought of telling Jake about Grayson and me tonight, but I was looking forward to at least feeling relief at having finally told him the truth. Now all I feel is frustrated.

Ten minutes later, I’m crossing the lawn to Grayson’s house. He opens the door and greets me with a hesitant smile. “So, how did it go? Hopefully the fact that he didn’t tear over here with a hacksaw is a good sign? Do I get to keep my legs or not?”

I shake my head with a sigh. “I didn’t tell him.”

SIXTEEN

SHOUT IT FROM THE ROOFTOPS, WHY DON’T YOU.

Sierra

I remove the petunias from the pot and place them in the soil, patting the loose dirt at the roots until there’s no space around the plant. I’m up early today; Grayson left me in his bed when he went out for a bike ride this morning. He was quiet when he crawled out of bed, but when I rolled over and found he wasn’t there, I couldn’t fall back asleep. My mind too busy remembering last night’s dinner with my brother, and the fact that Grayson and I are still a secret.

“Hey, Sierra,” Tucker’s voice calls from Grayson’s lawn next door. “Whatcha planting?”

“Hey, Tucker. Good morning.” I turn to look at him, a petunia plant still in one hand. He’s eating one of the muffins I made Grayson yesterday, which means he probably stopped in at Gray’s house and stole one from the counter before coming over here. He’s used to just walking into Grayson’s house without knocking and has a habit of going over there to scrounge for food. “Enjoying the muffin?”

“These are damn good. Did you make these? I sure as hell know it wasn’t your boy —”

My eyes widen, and I glare. “Shout it from the rooftops, why don’t you? Keep it down.”

“Relax, Si,” he says with a devilish wink. “Holden’s at Aubrey’s and there’s no one around. Your steamy secret is safe with me.”

I shake my head, shrugging him off.

“Flowers looks good,” he says, scanning his eyes over the selection of flowers I bought at the nursery. “Are you going to add the geraniums? They plant well with petunias. Both sun worshippers. They can never get enough of the rays.”

“And how would you know all that? I thought produce was your gardening specialty?”

“Ah, come on. I happen to know my way around a flower bed. Every good gardener should,” he says with a grin. I don’t know Tucker very well yet, but I can see why he’s so loveable. He could charm the tail off a dog. “Let me help you.”

He crouches down beside me, moving one of my other pots between his knees. I watch him assess the flowers that need to be planted before deciding on the pansies and zinnias I bought. He gets to work tipping them out of the plastic pots they came in, then planting them so they’re standing perfectly upright before backfilling the soil and tamping it down all around the delicate roots.

“You’re pretty good at that,” I tell him.

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