3. “HEY JEALOUSY” #4
Snapping out of his shock, he reached forward to shake her hand. “Pleasure to see you again, Elizabeth. You remember my brother, Greyson, and this is his wife, Wren, and that’s Jocelyn. Grey, you remember Olivia Aldrich.”
“Oh, yeah. Hey, how you doing?”
“Wonderful. And you?”
Soren’s gaze darted to Jocelyn’s. Her expression remained unreadable as Olivia made small talk with Grey, asking about the baby’s due date and offering overdue condolences on the loss of their dad.
The condolence didn’t sound rehearsed. She shared that she lost her grandmother the summer before last, and for a moment her polished exterior showed something real underneath. Wren’s brow softened as a soft, empathetic pout transformed her face.
Jocelyn’s gaze lowered as the conversation seemed to thicken around them. He could only register her discomfort.
Apparently, he wasn’t the only one.
Olivia stepped closer. “I’m sorry, I missed who you were. Jacqueline, was it?”
Her eyes narrowed. “It’s Jocelyn.”
“Jocelyn’s a famous author,” Wren proudly informed. “Maybe you heard of her. Jocelyn Collins?”
“Oh.” Both women’s faces lit with interest. “What do you write?”
“Viking smut,” she said with little inflection.
“Viking…smut?” Neither woman seemed to know how to respond.
Soren was suffering some sort of out-of-body experience.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you. I can’t say I’ve ever met a famous author.” Olivia laughed as if tickled by the experience.
Jocelyn’s nose momentarily scrunched as if sniffing a soggy diaper, then a fake smile overtook her face. “I’m just your average small-town celebrity. Is that Shalimar I smell?”
Fuck.
Olivia smiled. “It is.”
Jocelyn’s lips twisted into the tightest smirk. “I thought I recognized it.”
He met Greyson’s stare and gave a slight shake of his head.
His brother was the only one who knew about him and Jocelyn, but it wasn’t like they penpalled about it.
Grey caught them creeping out of the powder room at his dad’s funeral a year and a half ago and never said another word about it.
For all his brother knew, that little foray was good and buried.
But then Wren looked at him with concern, and he had the sinking suspicion that his brother wasn’t the secret keeper he’d once been. Or maybe Jocelyn had told her. They were best friends, after all.
Suddenly feeling very exposed, he cleared his throat. “Well, we were just heading out.”
“We?” Olivia’s eyes dropped to King’s leash and widened when she realized it was connected to his hand. “Soren, you never mentioned having a dog. She’s beautiful.”
“It’s a he. King. And I just adopted him.”
“Oh, how exciting. Are you going to breed him?”
“No, he’s fixed.”
“Like his master,” Jocelyn muttered under her breath, quiet enough that Olivia missed it.
“I have to head home and get him settled.”
“Of course.” Olivia brushed a manicured hand across his forearm. “I’ll see you tonight.” He froze as she rose to press a kiss on the corner of his mouth, very aware of the others watching. “Come along, Mother. I see the florist has the peonies you like.”
As they walked away, a bowling ball rolled in the pit of his stomach. He slowly turned to face the others.
Jocelyn’s stare locked on a group of strangers to their right, expression unreadable.
Wren cleared her throat. “You know, I think my feet are hurting, Grey. We should head back.”
Soren muttered a goodbye as his brother and Wren disappeared into the crowd. Jocelyn was still staring at the group of strangers.
“Sorry about that,” he finally said.
She pulled her gaze back to him slowly. “About what?”
“Joce, I had no idea she would be here—”
“I don’t care, Soren.”
But she did. “I feel terrible—”
“Don’t.”
“Joce—”
“You should go. You’ve got to get King home, and then you have your date tonight.”
“Don’t be like that—”
“Go, Soren. I really don’t care.” It sounded like she was excusing him, but he heard the slight tremor in her voice.
A lump formed in his throat and he nodded, regretting that he’d upset her. “Maybe tonight—”
“I have plans tonight, so save yourself a trip. I won’t be home until morning.”
His brow creased when something sour burned in his gut. “Where are you going?”
She stood and tidied a stack of papers as if trying to avoid eye contact. “My personal life doesn’t concern you any more than yours concerns me.”
Yeah, he got that. But where the fuck was she spending the night? And with who?
A group of kids rushed up to the table begging for lollipops, and Jocelyn put on a brave face, smiling and handing out candy as she pretended he no longer existed.
That fiery sensation in his stomach flooded his chest, and he stepped back—dismissed. “Come on, King.”
The Great Dane looked up at him, confused. He’d found a cozy spot on the grass to lie, and Cordelia perched on his foot as if it were her personal throne. Soren leaned down to scoot her away, but she snapped at his fingers.
“Damn it. Get.” He gave King’s leash a soft pull. “Come on, boy.”
The dog stood like a long-legged giraffe and obediently followed him back to the car. When Soren looked back at Jocelyn, she held his stare with a knowing one of her own and scooped up her dog.