Page 57 of The Parent Trap

“And there’s room to play,” she says. “They already love that proposal. If we can save costs with Tree-Free products? Even better. More off the top for us, and it looks better for the developer, and keeps prices down for the owners. Win all around.”

I close the folder as the elevator opens. Step on, but I’m thinking. “And you know, I just talked to my guys at Albion. They’ve got their VP himself coming out to pitch us next week.” I eye her. “We could work that in. High-value lux places like this? I think it could be the perfect place to try and incorporate a whole-home connectivity system, as an experiment.”

She muses as the elevator descends. “I’m not sure. I agree in theory, but this has the potential to be the most lucrative deal McKenna has ever done. One gamble is scary enough—and 3D printed framing is a big gamble.Twonew, experimental elements? I think that’s tempting fate.”

“I see what you’re saying.” We reach the parking garage, and we’re faced with the question of my car, hers, or separate? “How about we wait and see how the Albion pitch goes next week and think about it more from there.”

She nods. “Fine. But don’t expect me to change my mind. I’m willing to takesomegambles on innovation. But I still have to keep us solvent and making smart decisions. I have to stay at least somewhat conservative.”

I head for my truck, and she follows, rounding to the passenger side without a qualm. Guess we’re taking my truck. She buckles in, and I will myself to not get lost in the strapboob beauty. Stay focused. This is business. And she clearly regrets—

No, no, no. Shut it down. Business.

“How about I be the innovator, the one looking into new stuff, and you be the smart and conservative one who shoots down my ideas when they go too far?”

“So…all of them?” she says with a smirk.

Is she…teasing me? I’ll take it.

I pull out of the parking garage, connecting my phone to the infotainment screen. “So. Where are we going?”

She takes my phone from me, pulls up a navigation app, and inputs a destination. “About an hour drive, one way.”

Shit.

An hour alone with her in the car? I’m scared and excited at the same time. Do I dare bring up what happened? I have a thousand questions, but breaching any of them feels like grabbing the tiger by the tail.

Ten minutes of excruciatingly awkward, tense silence later gives me the distinct impression that she’s wrestling with the same things I am.

I glance at her—her expression is pensive, tight. She’s staring out her window, chewing on her lower lip. Hands folded in her lap, one thumbnail picking at the cuticle of the other.

I look away just in time to catch her glancing sidelong at me. Assessing me the way I was assessing her.

She doesn’t know how to address this any more than I do. Kind of a relief, honestly.

Finally, tired of dancing around it in my own head, I grab the bull by the horns—and wonder what other animal-based metaphors I’m going to use in my own thoughts.

“Delia…” except I have no clue what to say.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Thai.”

“Yeah, see, I think that’s a load of bullshit. You do, but you’re scared to.” I twist the steering wheel with my fist, as if I could strangle answers out of it. “How about we just…acknowledge that it happened, first.”

She shakes her head. “I can’t talk about this, Thai,” she whispers.

“Can’t, won’t, or don’t want to?”

“All of the above.”

“Why?”

She fits her thumbnail into her mouth and nibbles on it, then yanks her hand away and shakes it, sits on the hand. “I want to pretend nothing happened. It was just a dream.”

“That won’t work, and you know it.” I look at her. “Look at me.”

She turns her head away. “No.”

“Look at me, dammit. You owe me that much.”