Page 49 of Play the Part (Marsford Bay #2)

HUXLEY

T he date is a hit, and I’m buzzing in my seat long after the lights go down and the first movie starts playing.

By the time the second feature ends, the buzz has slumbered into a low hum of pure contentment.

Especially when Connie spends the last half-hour of the movie with her head resting on my shoulder.

It’s past eight and dark out by the time we leave the movie theatre. We slowly stroll out into the late winter night, Connie’s arm tucked through mine.

The date is winding down, but I’m not ready to end it just yet.

“Dessert?” I ask, already subtly leading us down the street.

She beams at me, her body pressed close to mine as we walk. Her hazel eyes shimmer as if lit up from the inside out, and once again, she steals my breath away.

“Always,” she answers with a small, sated sigh.

Unbeknownst to Connie, I scoped out the area before bringing her here and happen to know that there’s a diner she might think is cute just around the corner.

As we walk inside, the bell chimes above our heads. We nod at the server standing near the counter before we pick a booth in the far back, near the window. I slide in first, and Connie follows suit, sitting next to me.

For the first bit, in between ordering coffees and pie, we barely talk, our loaded glances doing all the talking for us. I think—or maybe hope—she’s feeling a lot like me right now.

Content. Happy. Quietly satisfied.

When our slices of pie arrive—hers key lime and mine cherry—she takes a bite of mine before even tasting hers. She notices me staring and chuckles with her mouth full, the fork slipping past her lips.

“Sorry, was that rude?”

I grin and shake my head. I’d let her eat my whole damn plate if it meant I could stare at her like this forever.

“What’s mine is yours, baby.”

“Careful.” She laughs, tucking a red strand of hair behind her ear while she takes a sip of coffee. “That sounded a lot like a proposal.”

I turn my body so I can lean my back against the window pane to better stare at Connie some more.

“Don’t tempt me,” I answer casually.

She snorts. “God, you really are a romantic.”

I kick her foot playfully under the table.

“And you’re not? Miss lover of fate?” I tease.

Her laugh is much purer this time. And I burn to memory the hills and valleys of the sound, knowing I’ll want to return to it again and again. Silence falls between us as I continue to stare at her, quietly drumming my fingers on the table.

“What is it?” she says, a crooked grin on her lips. “You look like you’re lost in thought.”

I respond with a smile before I speak. “Remember that question you asked me when we were snowed in?”

She casts her gaze down as if trying to recall, then looks up, eyes slightly narrowed. “About how everything happens for a reason?”

“Yeah,” I say, slowly nodding my head. “Do you remember what I said?”

Her expression turns slightly suspicious, but it’s paired with an amused smirk. “You said to ask again when something good actually happens in your life.”

Wordlessly and with a small prompt of the hand, I tell her to ask again.

Her gaze turns soulful, and she stays silent for a few loaded beats.

“Do you believe that everything happens for a reason?” Her voice is quiet. Deliberate.

“Maybe.” I laugh when her face falls. She was obviously expecting me to say yes outright. I take her hand and kiss her knuckles. “But right now? It sure does feel like it.”

She presses her lips together as if trying to suppress her grin, her eyes sparkling like a starry night sky. But as she watches me, she gradually turns serious.

“Am I the good thing in your life?”

It’s rare to see Connie looking so unsure of herself, as if she’s nervous to even ask for fear she’ll have assumed wrong. I reassure her with a stroke of my thumb over the top of her hand still in mine.

Something about the moment brings me back to the afternoon when I told her that I loved her. Feels like a lifetime ago. But it was just last week. It was the wrong time; I see it now. But it doesn’t prevent me from thinking it again as she stares back at me.

For now, I’ll settle for the silent declaration of my fingers leaving a slow caress on her skin. As well as telling her that she’s the one good thing in my life right now. It’s the closest thing I can say without flat-out telling her that I love her again.

“What do you think?” I finally say quietly.

Her smile is coy as she leans over. She plants a delicate kiss on my lips before settling back in her seat. “You are, too.”

“Do you ever think about Mom?”

Sophia’s fork full of scrambled eggs stops mid-way to her open mouth as she eyes me warily. By the way she’s staring at me, it’s as if I shouted the question across the busy restaurant. The eggs never make it to her mouth before she drops her fork back on her plate.

She crosses her arms before saying, “Is that why you took me out for breakfast this morning?”

I scrunch up my nose. “How is this me taking you out for breakfast?”

With her arms still crossed, she motions to her plate. “Well, I’m not paying for this.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine, I’ll pay. Can you answer my fucking question please?”

She widens her eyes and makes a face while looking to the side as if slightly appalled by my profanity. “Pushy,” she comments while picking up her smoothie.

I know she’s just antagonizing me on purpose but fucking hell, it’s working and my knee starts to jump under the table as I try to keep my cool.

Sophia cracks a smile and takes a sip of her drink as if enjoying every second of my torture. I shoot daggers at her from across the table while she takes her time crunching on a piece of toast.

Finally, she answers my question, “Occasionally.”

Her one-word answer irks me, but I press on. “Do you miss her?”

Sophia’s upper lip curls ever so slightly as if the very thought repulses her.

“Do you ?”

I shrug and take a sip of coffee. “I miss the concept of her, I think.”

“The concept of her?” she repeats. Then laughs. “Okay, therapy.”

“Yeah,” I deadpan. Then, study her for a few seconds. “And given how fucking aloof you’re acting, I think it might be your turn soon.”

She points a finger at herself, mouth open in shock. “My turn?” She shakes her head profusely. “You got the wrong girl.”

“Why the hell not?”

Never in my life did I think I’d be the poster child for therapy, but here we are.

She scoffs, shoving a piece of bacon into her mouth.

She chews, which I can only describe as, with attitude, before swallowing and finally saying, “No therapist is going to tell me anything I haven’t already figured out myself.

” Her voice is thick with annoyance. “Abandonment issues? Check.”—she makes the motion with her hand—“Neglect? Check. Emotionally immature parents? Check.”

Realizing the conversation is moot, I concede to her holier-than-thou attitude.

For now.

I hold my hands up as a sign of surrender. “Okay, fine. Whatever. Suit yourself.”

I resume eating my blueberry pancakes in silence.

“Anyway,” Sophia says pointedly, obviously wanting to change the subject.

She picks up her phone from beside her plate and starts tapping around on the screen.

“Oh my god!” she says a little too loudly.

Her mouth falls open as her body jerks forward in shock, wide eyes jumping up to meet mine. I can tell by her expression that her shock is out of excitement.

I don’t have time to ask why she’s gawking at her phone before she flips her screen around and shows it to me. For half a second, I can’t tell why she’s showing me a picture of me and Connie. Until I realize that the picture has been posted on Connie’s Instagram profile.

It’s been almost two weeks since we officially started dating. Best two weeks of my fucking life. But she had not once posted about us on her socials until now.

“That’s a hard launch if I ever did see one,” Sophia chuckles, grinning at her screen.

“Let me see.” I grab my phone and pull up her profile. I study the picture some more. “She even tagged me in it,” I mutter under my breath.

It’s of us having coffee, sitting next to each other at her kitchen island. She’s wearing one of my t-shirts and I think I might die of fucking bliss staring at us.

I look so happy. She looks so happy.

Maybe I should be embarrassed by how excited I feel about just a simple picture of us. But it’s so much more than that. She’s finally claimed me. For the whole world to see.

I lean back into my chair, feeling smug as I look back at my sister. Sophia’s expression is one of quiet pride.

She smiles. “You deserve every second of this,” she says softly.

Not long ago, that statement would have made me uncomfortable. Mad even. But not today.

Today, I receive it wholeheartedly.

Today, I believe it.