Page 27 of In Case You Didn't Know

“What work stuff?” I ask.

Autumn shifts in her seat. “Nothing.” For some reason she won’t meet my eye.

“Autumn?” I frown. She’s hiding something. And I hate when people hide things.

“It doesn’t matter. Just be nice.” She stands up, shaking her hair out. “Now let’s go grab another drink and listen to some good music. This house is way too quiet for my liking.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Autumn wails four hours later, as I lift her into my arms and carry her to my car parked beside The Salty Dog – Liberty’s best (and only) beach bar. Her breath is sweet from cocktails, and the hair she probably spent hours styling is a tumbling mess that frames her smeared makeup.

“Let’s just get you home,” I murmur, shifting her weight in my arms so I can open the backdoor of my car. Francie reaches for the handle, and our fingers brush.

One soft touch and a jolt shoots through me. I ignore it, concentrating on getting Autumn into my backseat. She flops over twice before I can get the belt around her.

“What the hell was in those cocktails?” I ask, mostly to myself.

“It was the speed of drinking them rather than the ingredients,” Francie says wryly. I turn to look at her. Unlike Autumn, she’s still put together, gold top slashed across her neck, one tan shoulder bare.

She brushes past me. Accidental or not, it works. My body reacts before my brain can stop it. I grit my teeth. Maybe I shouldn’t have come. But the moment Francie called, I stepped in like an idiot.

I stride around her, opening the passenger door.

“I was going to sit in the back seat with Autumn,” Francie says, giving me a glare.

“I’m not a taxi driver.” I flourish my hand at the passenger seat and she gives a huff before she slides inside and I close the door behind her.

I start up the engine. “Did you have a nice evening?” I ask Francie, wanting to cut the silence between us.

“So we’re making small talk now?” she asks me.

“I’m trying to be nice,” I tell her. “I can make any kind of talk you like.” I clear my throat as I back out of the lot and turn right to drive through “downtown” Liberty before we reach the open road to the Lighthouse. Parker is there waiting – he left Hudson’s house shortly after the girls went out. Hudson called him to let him know what to expect after Francie’s SOS.

“Maybe we should just be silent,” Francie suggests. “I’m too tired to argue with you tonight.”

“Is asking if you had a nice evening arguing?” I ask her, genuinely interested.

“No, but no matter what I say, it’ll end up in an argument.”

My chest tightens again. I should probably get my heart checked out. Or stop letting her near it.

“I’m sorry,” I say gruffly.

Francie shifts in her seat. From the corner of my eye I can see her looking at me, like she’s trying to figure me out.

“What for?” she asks.

I let myself glance at her. Only for a second. But that’s long enough for me to take in her wide, expressive eyes and soft-as-fuck lips. “For being an asshole.”

She lets out a soft laugh. “Which time?”

This time I chuckle. Mostly because she’s right. “Every damn time,” I admit. “Work’s a mess. And I hear you’ve got your own stuff going on. I’m sorry if I made it worse.”

“What kind of hard time?” she asks, and I’m struck by how she always pushes the conversation away from herself. And by how similar we are in that respect. I don’t like talking about myself much either.

“Corporate bullshit. There are lawyers involved. It’s a ball ache, but it’ll work out.” There, I’ve admitted it. “How about you? What’s going on at work?”

“At work…” she trails off. “Oh yeah. No, it’s okay. I’m just a little burned out.”

She smiles as I pull up outside the lighthouse. My headlights sweep across the lighthouse window. Like clockwork, Parker opens the front door before I’ve even turned off the car.