Page 85 of Lizzie Blake's Best Mistake

“Mar is an absolute genius,” Lizzie said, smiling at Rake. That’s what was so remarkable about Lizzie: Her pride and adoration for the people around her felt like the most genuine force in the world. She gushed about the accomplishments of others with unfettered joy.

“Maryis quite smart, yes,” Claire said, cutting a small bite of roast. “She and Ryan both attended the University of Pennsylvania,” she added. As though Rake gave a fuck.

“What was Lizzie like as a kid?” Rake asked abruptly, thetone and direction of Claire’s comments raising his hackles. He directed the question toward Ryan, hoping he could inject good humor into this rapid spiral of awkward tension.

Ryan chuckled. “Lizzie has always been a firecracker,” he said, shooting her a big smile. Lizzie returned it with a hesitant quirk of her lips.

“From the moment she learned how to walk, she was always into trouble,” Douglas said, taking a bite of food and chewing loudly. Rake watched Lizzie’s smile slip, her shoulders curving into a protective shell as she looked down at her lap.

“But she was the funniest kid,” Ryan interjected, smiling again. “Lizzie, remember your Superman cape?”

Lizzie’s head shot up, a genuine smile curving her mouth. “I totally forgot about that. How old was I? I feel like I was really little for that.”

Ryan nodded. “I was in my superhero phase around eight, so you were probably, what, five?” Ryan turned to look at Rake, humor lighting up his features. “Lizzie was obsessed with Superman,” he explained. “She used to beg me to lift her over my head so she could pretend like she was flying.”

Lizzie snorted beside Rake, but there was no missing the harsh glance Claire shot her at the noise.

“She found this red towel in the linen closet and made me pin it onto her every day. Every. Single. Day.” Ryan rolled his eyes with good humor, looking at Lizzie.

She let out one of her signature laughs. “Oh my God, the towel.” She slapped a hand to her forehead, her shoulders bouncing with giggles. “I was obsessed with having my cape,” she said, turning to Rake. “Refused to leave home without it. I’d run around with a fist in the air while using the other to hold back the cape.”

Lizzie continued to laugh, but Claire caught her eye, giving the subtlest shake of her head while she made a soft shushing sound, delicately pumping her hand toward the ground to tell Lizzie to lower the volume.

Lizzie’s laughter dimmed to a throat clearing, her cheeks flushing a violent red.

“The thing was twice your size,” Ryan added. Mary laughed next to him, smiling at the siblings. “I wonder what ever ended up happening to it?” Ryan asked, turning toward Claire with a smile.

“I threw it away,” Claire said, daintily cutting her vegetables. “She wouldn’t stop wearing it. Always demanding we pin it on… The fits she would throw if we told her no.” The woman let out a tinkling laugh, shaking her head. “Had to get rid of it to find some peace.”

Lizzie pushed her hair behind her ears, her cheeks heating to a deeper crimson as she blinked down at her plate again.

“It was the Hulk phase after that,” Ryan carried on, lost in the happiness of the memories and completely oblivious to the tension threatening to crack the room in half. Lizzie shot him a pleading glance across the table, and Mary gave his hand a squeeze, but he didn’t notice.

He turned his attention to Rake, all smiles. “She got ahold of a pair of scissors somehow and cut all her pants into knee shorts, like the Hulk wore.” Ryan laughed, and Rake couldn’t help but smile at the image of his Lizzie, a round-faced, freckled little girl, running around with frayed shorts pretending to be a big green monster.

He reached under the table and grabbed Lizzie’s hand from where she had them shoved under her thighs. He laced his fingers with hers.

“She even figured out that if she made tiny little cuts at the top of her shirts, she could rip them off when she’d ‘Hulk out.’” Ryan laughed even harder and grabbed his wineglass, taking a sip. “When she’d get upset, she’d tear her shirt straight down the middle and let out a yell like she saw in the cartoon. She’d crack herself up so much by doing it, I don’t think she remembered why she was even upset afterwards.”

“I hope our kids are as creative as you were, Lizzie,” Mary cut in, leaning forward a bit to catch Lizzie’s eyes. “Sounds like you were such a fun child.”

“That’s one way to phrase it,” Claire said, carefully cutting another bite of food.

“She certainly was an adventure,” Douglas added through a mouthful.

“Well, I think she sounds like a wonderful kid,” Rake said, not a trace of subtlety in his words. Lizzie squeezed their still-clasped hands, sending him a cautious glance.

“Must have been,” Rake continued, holding her eyes, “to become such a wonderful adult.”

“Yes, well… her father and I certainly did our best,” Claire said with a sigh and almost sorrowful smile.

Rake opened his mouth to say something—he wasn’t sure what, but he wanted it to be as subtly cutting as Claire’s words—but Lizzie cut him off, lobbing a question at her dad.

“How’s the firm, Dad? Business still good?”

Douglas launched into an incredibly boring and detailed account of his job as a lawyer, directing a great deal of the conversation to Rake as if he gave a damn. Rake couldn’t care less about Donna the paralegal or the influence of small-town politics on the practice. He didn’t care about some big catch Mr. Blake made in a contract. He didn’t even pay attention to what kind of law the man practiced.

All Rake cared about was Lizzie. Hurt seeped from her body like perfume. It wasn’t obvious; she kept a controlled smile plastered on her lips as she nodded at her father, but Rake could feel it. He wanted to pick her up, throw her in the car, and speed all the way back to the safety of their home. He wanted to erase her memory of the past few hours and build her up, layer by layer, until she knew how much she glowed as a person.