“I bet it’s the company,” Troy teased, his eyes practically violating me.
“Oh stop flirting, Troy. Harper is here as my guest, and off limits, you hear me?” There was a playful tone in her voice but a certain edge to it.
I waited for my insides to boil. For the anger and resentment I felt toward him to surface. But I felt nothing but pity for him right now.
A loud thunder sounded over the roof and I jumped. “You alright, lovey? It’s only a little rain.” Grace touched my shoulder.
“Let’s hope it’s a little,” Robert muttered as he peered through the back door window. “It’s supposed to be the tail end of that hurricane coming up from the south, but I hear it’s getting closer to the island in a category two…maybe even three.”
“That’s just the news looking for ratings, Dad,” August said.
“Not everything is about business and making money, August. There are still reporters telling us what we need to know,” Troy argued.
“That reminds me, I’ve got to make some calls. Call me when dinner is ready.”
“Or if I need to reach something,” Grace called back.
“You know, I could get it for you, Mom,” Troy claimed.
She smiled sweetly. “Of course, sweetheart, I just don’t want you to strain.”
“It’s cause I’m taller,” August called from the living room as fingers moved around his phone.
“By like a millionth of an inch.”
I cocked my head at thetallerbrother and he caught my eye as I scanned the length of him.
19
Atdinner,Ireluctantlyslid into a chair that Troy held out for me, far too aware that August was on the other side of the table.
It was for the best, I wasn't sure how much more of his dark gazes and coolness I could handle tonight.
Robert Hartman talked about the weather and the fuss about a hurricane coming. Troy talked about hockey and how much he disliked and disagreed with certain teammates.
And August, was quiet for the most part.
“August, what do you do?” I asked from across the table.
“Oh you know, math stuff.” He shrugged.
His tone startled me, but not enough to back down. “You play a sport?”
Those intense eyes flickered back to me. “No.”
“August played hockey back in college, but his life was suits and dollar signs,” Troy offered.
“I just prefer a quieter life,” August corrected.
I scoffed. “You didn’t seem very quiet on those calls.”
Troy clapped and laughed, and Robert chuckled. “I like her.”
Dropping his gaze to his potatoes, August’s jaw locked before he spoke. “It can be frustrating dealing with people. What about you?”
“I’m a barista,” I said with confidence that could kill knowing how he felt about it.
“What else?” he asked sharply.
