Grady stepped back and stuffed his hands in his pockets.
Claire did the same. “We should get going.”
“Yeah.” He locked the office doors and flicked off the upstairs lights. “Claire?”
“Yes?” she asked, a desperation in her voice. Dammit, she needed to get better at hiding her reactions.
“Ryder and I don’t talk much because of an old girlfriend. As much as I’d love to piss him off and give him a taste of his own medicine, that’s not me.”
Falling, dropping like a fiery ball of lead in her stomach... or an organ slightly superior and lateral, wrenched and threatened acute arrest. She bit her lips together and nodded, unable to find anything to say that wouldn’t make it worse.
Nodding, she followed him down the stairs. Rather than heading out the back, he motioned to the front door. Outside, the patio heaters and firepits kept the vicinity comfortable, but the moment they crossed the iron gate, the chill night sent a billion nanoscopic icepicks into her skin.
As the noise of the brewhouse quieted behind them, he nodded. “Ahab’s is probably packed. Easier to stay parked here and... well, I guess Ryder will take you home after.”
She nodded.
The walk was short and... not so sweet. Grady didn’t say a word. Claire couldn’t find a single word in the entire English language, or Latin for that matter, that wouldn’t make them both sink deeper into aching misery.
Inside, the heat and the commotion of the crowd knocked her backward into Grady. His hand laced around her middle to steady her, as he had at Black Op. Stiffening, both pulled away. Grady stuffed his hands back in his pockets, but leaned in close so she could hear him over the roar of the crowd. Cheek to cheek, he said, “Ahab’s is quirky, the food’s decent, and it’s a Foothills original.”
Leaning in, letting the rough growth of his weekend beard brush her cheek, she asked, “Why the whaler’s theme?”
“Clever marketing tactic.”
“Ryder would never come up with something this off-the-wall.”
At his brother’s name, Grady pulled away and his smile faded. Claire followed him through the crowd.
Two couples were already seated at a row of pushed-together high-top tables in the back. Grady pulled out a stool for Claire, then sat down next to her. “This is Claire, Ryder’s fiancée.”
They introduced themselves, friendly but curious looks on every face. Asher was shockingly handsome, and Sophie a good match for him. Pippa was vibrantly bubbly, and her husband Lincoln was gracious, offering Claire a pint first thing. Asher raised his glass. “Are you surviving Patricia so far? I have yet to win her favor, but I can’t say that I’ve tried.”
A mountain of appetizers appeared on the table, and Claire waited an appropriate moment for the others to dig in, then scooped a variety on her plate, grabbing for the jalapeno poppers at the same time as Sophie. She flashed her a wink, and Sophie passed the platter closer so they could share.
Claire sat up straight in her stool and devoured a bite of popper, considering how to respond. “I honestly haven’t had much interaction with her, aside from light conversation over dinner.”
Eyebrow raised, Asher said, “You can be honest. As she thinks Zane and I have corrupted Grady beyond repair, I treat her with the same respect that she treats me.”
Grady groaned and glared into his beer. “We got to overhear Patricia’s latest rant about my inadequacies as a potential mate for some lucky woman. But she did seem to compliment Claire behind her back.”
“I believe the words were, ‘rough around the edges,’ but otherwise I seem to have passed inspection so far. But I haven’t exactly let her see my quirks.”
Grady leaned his knee against hers. “Quirky is a good thing.”
Across the table, Sophie scrunched her eyebrows suspiciously at his remark.
Claire blushed, but didn’t get to respond. A pair of hands grasped her shoulders. Ryder leaned down and plastered a kiss on her temple. “She is quirky. But lovably so.”
After dropping onto the stool next to her, Ryder linked his fingers with hers and stole the last buffalo wing from her plate. Scowling, she stuffed in the last bite of popper and looked to the center of the table for more, but the wings had disappeared faster than the poppers.
Grady grabbed the last two from his plate and slid them on hers, wiped his fingertips on his napkin, and disappeared into his shell.
A few minutes later, another tray appeared, quickly followed by Zane, tall, broad, and starkly handsome as he was in the pictures at Black Op, and possessively holding hands with a fairy-amazon woman that shared an adoring grin before taking a seat against the wall.
Grady made the introductions, then fell markedly quiet. Ryder settled in against her, friendly and easygoing as he nailed a sweet kiss on her cheek. Where was the good-boyfriend side of himyesterday?
Sipping the whiskey he’d ordered, skipping on the shared pitcher, Ryder leaned forward to talk over her and asked Grady, “Two business partners, huh? Patricia said the beer was a hobby.”
