CHAPTER 16
“Will you take this platter out?” Aunt Clara asks me, holding out a tray filled with hamburger toppings.
It’s the night of Memorial Day. The parade happened this morning. Tonight after dinner, we’ll play croquet while we wait for the fireworks to shoot off. The official mark that summer in Lake Lloyd has begun.
“You bet.” I take the red, white, and blue platter from her. Going to the backyard, I place the tray on the table set out with all the other traditional foods served in summer: watermelon, potato salad, pasta salad, fruit, and drinks.
My favorite is after croquet when we start a fire in the pit down by the dock and roast marshmallows. It’s like being a child again. I’m ready for that simple pleasure and to stop thinking about what happened standing behind Millie on the boat two days ago and her almost falling and dying.
I didn’t mean to scramble away as fast as I did, but when she leaned into me, her back touching my chest sent a shock through my core, like a zap of lightning. The sensation caught me off guard and I reacted, albeit badly. When she almost went overboard, my heart stopped beating. I thought for sure I’d killed another person because of my carelessness. I couldn’t look her in the eyes after. The whole thing was a mess.
Two days later, and I’m still off-kilter.
I need to talk to Evie. She’ll help me sort out if Millie ever wants to see my face again and if I can handle being around Mils and these sensations humming inside me when I touch her.
“Will you get me a plate, son?” Dad calls out to me where he stands at the grill.
“Yeah.” I head back into the kitchen, where Aunt Clara and Mom are putting together a fruit pizza.
Mom looks as classy as always in her white capris and red blouse. Her blonde highlighted hair is swept back into some fancy twist. “We’re almost done. Where’s everyone else?”
“On the lawn, setting up croquet. Dad’s ready for a plate for the hamburgers.”
“He better not have burned them,” Aunt Clara says, pointing a sharp knife at me.
I hold my hands up. “I wasn’t watching. I’m sure they’re fine.” For Dad’s sake as well as the rest of us.
Aunt Clara drops the knife on the gray-and-white marble countertop. “I’m going to check.”
Mom smiles as Aunt Clara leaves. “I’m surprised she even allows us to help her with each meal.”
I grab a white plate from the cupboard. “We’ve never eaten anything bad when she’s here. I’m willing to deal with her slight control issues in exchange for good food.”
Mom snags the kitchen towel draped over her slender shoulder and snaps it at me. “Oh hush. I’ve never made you eat anything gross at our house.”
That’s mostly true. I refrain from reminding her of the time she tried to cook Indian food. She mixed up the spices, and let’s just say, nothing but the store-bought naan bread was worth eating that night. “You’re a great cook, Mom.”
“Thank you.” She puts another blueberry on the fruit pizza. “Now, how’s your research project coming along?”
I shrug. “I haven’t started yet.” I’ve been too busy since arriving at the house. Which is a good thing compared to the last few years.
“In that case, would you like to help me do a little research for my next book?”
Immediately, I’m on guard. “What kind of research?” If it has anything to do with romance, I’m out.
“After her divorce, my heroine goes to Spain to research more about her great-grandparents and their families. She’s hoping to find a relative or two. Anyone, really, who she feels connected to. Since her ex-husband left her, she thinks she’s all alone.”
Our family helped me exponentially after Jen. They still do. I can’t imagine what it would be like not having someone to rely on during a difficult time. I rub my chest. How does Mom write about other people’s sorrow and not crumple under the pain? “What do you need from me?”
“Help me figure out what city in Spain she’s from. What the history of that area is so my heroine can discover what her family did for a living and why her grandparents would have left to come to America.”
This is a research project I can get behind. “Deal.”
She snags sliced strawberries off the cutting board, sprinkling them over the dessert. “Thank you, Bennett. You have no idea how much you’d be helping me. Since my assistant went on maternity leave, I’m doing more marketing than normal. It’s eating into my research and writing time.”
“Well,”—I smile—“at least you’re not asking me invasive questions about kissing like you did when I was a teenager.”
She laughs. “I was new to writing romance at the time. You’re free from an interrogation.”
“Thank you.”
“Emerson said you stayed home last night.”
I can’t handle this conversation again. “I should get this plate to Dad.”
She puts a palm on my cheek. “Bennett, my suggestion for you to get back out there was to help you move on. At least, help you figure out if maybe you’re ready, but need a little push. If you find a measure of joy in hanging around women, if you start looking at them differently, then you’re probably just scared and that’s what’s really holding you back.”
Yes, she said as much already. I raise my brows. “And if I do go out, you don’t want to know every little thought and feeling?”
Mom steps away, going back to the fruit pizza. “I’m your mom. Of course I’m interested, but only if you want to tell me.”
I scrub a hand through my hair, hardly believing I’m about to tell her my plans for tomorrow. “I might take your advice. Tomorrow, when everyone goes out dancing, I think I’ll go with them.”
Mom’s eyes well with tears. “I’m sorry you have to do it in the first place. I loved Jen.” She sniffles. “But I’m happy to see you”re willing to put yourself back out there. Just promise me one thing?”
My muscles tense. “What?”
“Don’t give up too soon.”