Page 31 of Just a Plot Twist (Tate Brothers #7)

Claire

The way my heart is rioting out of my chest in anticipation of seeing Benson again underscores the celebratory vibe.

When I arrive, he invites me in for a few minutes.

I like his townhome. He’s clean, but not in a “I have a clinical obsession with cleanliness” way.

There’s gotta be at least twenty framed photos of Dax and Indie on the walls and surfaces of the great room.

He’s got this super manly, dark brown leather sofa, but there’s a soft, creamy yellow afghan over one arm that his mom, Leila, made for him.

I don’t imagine the tenderness in his voice as he tells me that. He loved his mom deeply, that much is clear.

And be still my heart, Cinnamon! Within minutes of me coming in, she was already rubbing against my legs like a kitten. And when I bend down to pet her, she leaned into it, her tongue hanging out and her smooshed in face asking me to never, ever stop.

On the drive to Peter’s, I tell Benson the good news. “Inez had her twins Tuesday night! I knew she was in labor. Two little girls. They’re a few weeks early, but they’re healthy and should be able to come home soon.”

“That’s exciting. Congrats to her. I can’t imagine twins,” Benson says, his eyes on the road. “Looking after one baby at a time is hard enough.”

And then, suddenly, I’m back in that uneasy place. I’m out of my league. Benson has experienced having a newborn, twice, and I haven’t even come close to anything like that. I have a niece, though. Does that count?

We change the subject to Peter Schiller and the various movers and shakers who might be at the party. It’s like I’m preparing for some reconnaissance mission.

It’s a good thing I’m not the one driving because I can’t help glancing at him repeatedly. And to be fair, I’m not the only one doing the looking. I’ve caught his glance in my direction a few times. Does he like me in my light green sundress with the eyelet lace trim?

Benson Kilpack is just too handsome on a Thursday night for his own good.

He looks good in a tux, and in business wear, and okay let’s face it, in sporty hiking clothes.

So yeah, basically all the clothes he’s worn.

But I’m not prepared for the way he looks in his khaki shorts, high-end sandals, and black v-neck t-shirt.

What could have looked better than him in his tousled tux with the dangling tie licking his chest?

Nothing, I thought.

Well, I was wrong. Because handsome-man-going-to-an-upscale-BBQ Benson is so hot.

We arrive and follow the stringed lights around the back of Peter’s large, Tuscan-style home.

Everything about the Schiller’s home is high end, and the backyard is no exception.

It sprawls out from the three sides around the house, the pool, pickleball and basketball courts, dining sets, and various outdoor games expertly intertwined with shrubbery, trees, and flowers.

The dipping sun still brightly warms us.

He maneuvers around the party with me like a total pro.

He talks with people, introducing himself and shaking their hands without any fear.

Yet he’s not one of those people who are loud and take up all the energy in a room.

He doesn’t demand anything from anyone—just kindly takes up space in the most warm, gentle way.

He’s a tech guy, but tonight, he’s like a generous, calm, and confident CEO.

I’m near him as we meander around the barbeque, near enough that people could gather that I’m his girlfriend, but not so close we can’t deny culpability. It feels like a date.

The party is everything my grandparents’ extravaganza was not: casual and carefree, a summer suburban barbecue with the aroma of smoked meats in the air. There’s even a bounce house for the kids in attendance.

We lounge on a patio set, eating brisket and salads, followed by the chocolate-covered treats I keep getting all over me. Seriously, he tells me twice that I have chocolate on my chin, and the second time, he uses a napkin to wipe it off.

Which is sweet, yet I feel a deep-seated sense of satisfaction when he finally gets a smudge of chocolate on his face, too.

I’m wiping it off for him when a couple walks towards us, smiling.

I lean closer to him in a whisper, his spicy, clean scent stuttering in my brain. “We should have gotten some hidden earpieces.”

“We’re not spies, Claire.”

I draw back. “I can’t pretend that we are?”

“No,” he deadpans. Yet, he tries to cover his smile by pressing a drink to his lips.

He stands to shake their hands. “Peter and Mandy, I’d like to introduce you to my date, Claire Lawson.”

I stand, too. Well, at least the question of whether or not this is a date has been answered.

Peter and his wife are warm. Either they have no idea that we know what they’re secretly up to, or they’re good at pretending.

It doesn’t take long for them to bring up their daughter.

“Lora’s following in her father’s footsteps soon.

” Mandy’s smile stretches across her face.

“She already has clients signed up, but she’s not even open yet.

” She glances back and forth between us.

“But they’ll be serving completely different demographics in their clientele than Foundations, so no need to worry about that. ”

“Mandy,” Peter warns. He’s got a small smile, but his expression is off.

I exchange a look with Benson.

“Oh, right,” Mandy says. “It’s his birthday. He doesn’t want business talk. I can’t help it if I’m a proud mother, that’s all!” Mandy reaches up to give her husband a swift smooch on the cheek. Peter’s expression is wary, like there’s an urgent need to explain something that he can’t.

“And you’re a proud papa, aren’t you, Benson?” Mandy asks. “You have two kids, right?” She loops her arm through Peter’s.

Benson gives a curt nod. “Yes. A daughter and a son.”

“How are your summer plans shaping up?” Mandy asks. “Anything exciting on the horizon?”

He licks his bottom lip, and there’s a hesitation, as if he wants to bring up the elephant in the room but can’t.

I step in to ease the moment. “He’s dog sitting right now.” I show them a photo of Cinnamon on my phone.

Mandy smiles. “She’s a cutie. We have two dogs ourselves.”

Benson’s not thinking of Cinnamon. His jaw is tight, but his smile is trying not to be. “Have you discussed Lora’s new business with my father, Peter?”

“Nah.” Peter’s smile is wide. “It has nothing to do with me directly.” His tone is low key. Everything about him speaks nonchalance. But maybe his smile is a bit too wide, his gaze a bit too blank.

“Of course. Makes sense. It sounds like a big deal, though.”

“It’s a big deal for my daughter,” Peter amends.

Benson only nods and knocks back the rest of his drink. “Well, I’m sure you’re proud of her. Mandy, are you two planning on going to Cabo again this year?”

Smooth, Benson. Smooth.

From across the pool, I catch a glimpse of Lora slipping into the pool house .

“Excuse me. I’ll be back in a moment.” I step past them, tossing a quick look at Benson, hoping it tells him I’ve gotten a lead on something important.

I make the mistake of glancing back once I’ve passed the pool and he’s still looking at me. His cheeks are round with a small smile, his gaze taking me in. My heart flutters in my throat.

Why is being looked at from a distance by a good, handsome man even better than chocolate? Because it’s sweeter and way less messy.

He’s left the couple and is now stopped by someone he seems to know, and they begin walking and talking along the edge of the pool. Right before I reach the pool house, I look back again.

He’s still looking at me. What’s in his expression? It’s a sense of interest. In how I look? In my own expression?

No.

In me . A deep interest in me. That’s what his expression says. I let out half a laugh, smile again, and turn back around to the door of the pool house.

Suddenly, there’s a grunty whoop! And then a deep, plunging splash.

Benson’s in and out of the water in such short order that I don’t even make it back over to the pool before he’s already got a towel—courtesy of a nearby guest—wrapped around him.

His face is red. He lifts the towel to the back of his head and rubs it against his hair. His shirt is dripping wet now, positively glued to his frame.

His laugh is sheepish. “So, yeah. I walked straight into the pool. ”

I reach up and place my hands on his shoulders, trying and failing to remove the whisperings of a smile from my face.

“Did you get hurt?” I ask, tugging on the towel and sliding it over his broad shoulder.

He cocks his head to one side. “Aw. Are you worried about me?”

“I didn’t see what happened. I only heard it.”

He closes his eyes and takes in a breath. “Please tell me I didn’t squeal like a little girl.”

I tip my head back to laugh. “Maybe a little.” At his paled face, I shake my head. “Kidding. There was sort of a grunt and then a big ol’ splash.”

Mandy arrives with another towel. “Peter did the same thing the other day! Do we need to have guardrails set up?”

“It’s fine,” Benson says. He grabs me in a bear hug. “Claire will help me dry off.”

He presses himself to me and I scream at the cold moisture seeping through my dress to my skin. His chuckle is low as he tightens his grip on me.

I scream again and push on his shoulders, my laugh ringing out over the party. I manage to wriggle free and he chases me. I dodge him and feel his fingertips brush my back. I’m just out of reach.

We’re making a spectacle of ourselves, like a couple of infatuated teens. But I don’t care.

I’m overcome with stark horror. He wants to throw me in the pool!

I scream again as I maneuver around some lounge chairs and pull one in front of my path to slow him down.

It works. I’m back around to the pool house door, where I was when this whole thing started, and this time, I manage to yank open the heavy door.

Oof. I slam a hip into the side of the small sink before jostling the door closed. I lock the door.

I’m plunged into darkness and breathing heavily. The bathroom is so dimly lit it takes me a moment to adjust my eyes from the brightness outside.

“Careful. That door is oddly close to the sink.”

I blink. It’s Lora. Her smile is kind, as she leans forward to peer at her reflection in the mirror while she washes her hands. “I keep telling my dad to do something about that.”

“Oh, thanks. You must be Lora.”

And she must notice that I’m out of breath.

“You okay?” She turns from the mirror to look at me.

I lick my lips. “I’m all good. Just running around out there.”

“It is a party, so makes sense,” she says, smiling. “And yes, I’m Lora. What’s your name?”

“I’m Claire Lawson.”

Lora focuses on her reflection, dragging her fingers through the front of her short, dark hair. “Nice to meet you. Are you from around here?”

I meet her gaze in the mirror. “I’m from Longdale, about an hour northwest of here. And you?”

“Denver, mostly. But I spent a few years in Boulder. And now I’m starting my own company in Longdale, actually.” She smiles brightly.

My heart ticks up. She’s already mentioning the company?

She seems open, so I plow ahead. “My grandparents live in Boulder. They own an energy solutions company there.”

“Oh?” She holds out a hand. “Wait. An energy company? What are their names? ”

“Patricia and Vernon Hanson.”

“I thought so,” Lora says. “They’re friends of my parents.”

“Really?” Surprise filters through me.

Lora nods. “Several of my parents’ friends have been supportive of my new business.”

“That’s great.” I pull a tube of lip gloss out of my dress pocket and begin to apply. “Tell me about the business. What do you sell?”

“Financial services, boutique style. We’re almost ready to launch, but I have about a million odds and ends to finish up first.” She snorts, drying her hands on a paper towel. “I wanted to stop working for someone else and do my own thing.”

“That’s exciting. Starting your own thing at a young age is impressive.”

“Well, I can’t take all the credit. I’ve got a lot of people helping me out.”

“That’s good.”

Especially help from family, isn’t that right, Lora?

“So what do you do?” she asks, and I start to tell her but then there’s a knock on the door.

“Open up, Claire.”