Page 12 of What He Doesn't Know

“Your wine, Mrs. Reid.”

“Oh! Thank you, Reese,” she said, taking the glass from his hand with a shake of her head. “And stop it with that formal stuff. You used to call me Mom, what happened to that?”

Reese chuckled, lifting his glass to take a sip. His eyes were still on me.

“Sorry. Gloria. That better?”

“It’ll do,” she conceded.

“Hello, Charlie,” Reese said next, reaching for my hand with the one not wrapped around his glass. “You look beautiful.”

He lifted my hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss onto the back of it. He used to greet me with high fives and a ruffle of my braids that I’d have to fix when he was done.

“Thank you. I see you found the cocktails.”

“At your mother’s request, of course.”

“Surely,” I teased, and he grinned before finally letting go of my hand.

“Reese, my boy,” Dad said, joining us in the middle of the foyer. “This is Cameron Pierce, my daughter’s husband. Cameron was the captain of the hockey team at Garrick where Charlie went to college. Hell of an athlete,” he said proudly. “And hell of a man, too. One of the top associates at Reid’s Energy Solutions.”

Dad was the Chairman of the Board and former CEO of an energy company he’d started with his brother. They’d built it from the ground up, riding the solar energy revolution, and Cameron joined the company right after graduation. He’d quickly moved up to be one of the top project managers. It was another part of his life I didn’t understand, but one I was proud of nonetheless.

“Treats our little girl pretty great, too,” Mom added with a sweet smile, leaning over to kiss Cameron’s cheek.

Then it was just him and Reese left to greet.

Cameron was quiet, his smile a little forced, as it always was when Mom and Dad doted on him. He hated attention, but was always too polite to say so. His eyes were hard as he reached for Reese’s hand.

Reese’s smile had fallen, too, but it reappeared as they finally clasped hands and shook firmly. “Pleasure to finally meet you, Cameron. Charlie has told me amazing things about you.”

I looked at Reese then. I hadn’t told him anything.

“All fabricated, I’m sure,” Cameron said with a smile of his own. “Nice to meet you, Reese. Charlie told me you’re teaching at Westchester now, and I hear you’re an old friend of the family, too.”

“Grew up in the house one block over,” Dad said, beaming. “Well, one yard over, really. He and Graham were best friends, and Charlie here was the same with Reese’s younger sister, Mallory. Four peas in a very tight pod, they were.”

Dad laughed a little at that, but I didn’t miss the shadow of grief that fell over Reese’s face at the mention of his sister. I cleared my throat, threading my arm through Reese’s.

“Make me a Wild Walker, for old time’s sake?” I asked, referencing the mystery concoction he’d branded with his last name when he was a teenager. It was the drink responsible for many of our friends’ first hangovers — mine included.

Reese’s eyes fell to where my hands rested on his bicep before they lifted to mine, and he smiled, seeming grateful for the change in subject. “You have a death wish before dinner?”

“I can handle it,” I assured him, and he barked out a laugh.

“I’m sure.”

“Cam, you’ll join us for a cocktail before you head out?” Mom asked.

We all turned to face Cameron then, and he was watching Reese curiously, in a way I’d never seen him watch anyone before. “Afraid not,” he answered, but he only looked at Reese. “Game starts at seven-thirty, and you know how traffic is.”

Dad clapped Cameron on the shoulder to walk him out. “Shame, but you’re right. Don’t let us keep you. I’ll text you once dinner is finished and I’m parked in front of the television in the study.”

Before they left, Cameron turned to me with dark eyes and said, “I’ll pick you up right after the game.”

He held my gaze a moment, as if he was trying to tell me something. I used to be so in tune with those looks, those little stares. I knew when he wanted to leave a party early, when he wasn’t feeling well, when he was making fun of someone with an inside joke between the two of us.

I used to know with one little look when he couldn’t wait to take my clothes off.