Page 147 of Really Truly Yours

Her teeth gnaw her lip. “What’s this for?”

“Open it and find out.”

I lean against the doorframe as she removes the sparkly tissue paper. She holds the fluff like she’s uncertain what to do with it. I open my palm. She places it there—and I promptly drop it onto the carpet. Her eyes roll. “Pick that up, Gray Smith.”

I chuckle. “In a minute.”

She lifts out the jersey I bought her. She holds it high for a full look, and it unfolds in the process.

“It’s mine.”

Our eyes meet.

“I mean, it’s got my name and number on back. I figured you could wear it tonight.”

The lines around her mouth turn soft. “Perfect.” Her eyes shrug. “I was worried about what to wear anyway.”

I touch her cheek again. “You look great in anything you put on, Sydnee Lou.”

Her eyes dismiss my compliment.

Why do women do that? Can’t she see I’m serious? She’s perfect the way she is.

After she lays the shirt out meticulously across her open suitcase, we drive to the restaurant. My parents’ SUV is already in the lot. I wish she would wait for me to get her door, but if doing so makes her uncomfortable, I won’t push. I only hope Dad’s not watching.

Man, I love the way her long fingers fold around mine when I offer my hand.

We enter the dining room already teeming with people. Mom waves me down from a table in front of the Gulf-facing windows. Chelsea—wait. Chelsea? She half-stands, lifting her hand, as well, so there’s no way I can miss them. Dad’s wise smile is curious.

He ultimately stands, too, once we reach the table and I make introductions.

I hug my sister last of the three. “Hey, Chels. I didn’t think you could make it.”

Her grin is sisterly obnoxious and knowing. “Um, that was before I heard you had a surprise.”

Of course. I should have known.

Mom beams. She’s been waiting for this day. Chelsea smiles, but, like Dad, is a careful watcher. Sydnee and Mom sit across from each other by the window. Dad and I pair up, with Chelsea facing us all from the end of the table.

Small talk fills the first minutes. Once the waitress takes our orders, Chelsea puts on her serious face. The doctor in her can’t help it. “Tell us about yourself, Sydnee. What do you do for a living?”

My arm is already pretty much a fixture around Sydnee’s shoulders, so I squeeze a little for encouragement. I know talking isn’t always her favorite thing.

“I work from home. I do customer service for an online retailer. And I keep the books for my brother’s business.”

“Oh, what does he do?”

“He’s a mechanic.”

Chelsea nods, inordinately thoughtfully. Then again, for her, it’s normal. “Where did you go to school? College, I mean.”

Sydnee shifts ever so slightly. “Community college.”

“Did you graduate?”

“No.” Sydnee’s smile shows strain, and her arm is set at her waist. “I work a lot.”

I lean closer, squeezing her shoulder. “And she was sick for a while, right Sydnee?”

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