Kasey snorts, pulling two mugs from a cabinet and setting them in front of the coffeemaker. One of them is pink, and I eye it curiously as he adds coffee to the filter before setting it to brew. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“What do we do if he rejects us?”
He shrugs. “You’re the brains of this whole operation, sugar. I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
My chest flares with indignant annoyance. “It wouldn’t kill you to be more helpful,” I say. “I mean, you have this whole wide-open ranch?—”
“I already said no, Ava.” He throws me a stern look. “No ranch.”
“Fine.” I huff out a breath, sinking further into the couch.
“Plus, I’d think sitting through two of those fucking awful meetings is plenty proof of my help.”
I wince. “I feel like he hates us.”
“Does that bother you?”
“No,” I say. “I don’t care what anyone thinks.”
“Liar,” he mumbles under his breath. He turns his back toward me to watch the coffee trickle into the pot.
I glare at the back collar of his shirt. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
I scowl. “I donotcare what people think of me, Kasey. I never have.”
He turns to look at me over his shoulder. “Have you told your dad yet?”
“No.”
His mouth kicks up. “Hm.”
“Not because I care what he thinks!” I argue. “You know that man is going to make our lives hell when he finds out. The closer it is to an actual ceremony, the sooner I can get out of his house. I’m being strategic.”
Kasey turns to face me again. He leans against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “How is it?” he asks. “Being home?”
I sigh. “Same as it used to be.”
“Gloria?”
“Would very much rather Inotbe there.” She hasn’t spoken more than five words to me in the last few days—I think her patience over my presence is wearing thin.
He frowns. “You can stay here if you need to. You don’t have to wait until the wedding.”
I hold back a snort. “Shacking up out of wedlock? This town would riot.” He smiles, but I can tell he’s serious. “Come on, Kasey . . . you want me here less than Gloria wants me at home.”
“That’s not true,” he argues, and I arch a brow. “Okay, maybe I was a little . . .reluctant,at first. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you here, Ava.”
I blink at the sincerity in his tone. After all the vulnerability he let loose today, I’ve been ready for him to disappear behind his mask, but he seems more willing to show his cards.
“Did you mean it?” I dare to ask.
“Mean what?”
“You don’t blame me for leaving?”
There it is again, the proof of his hurt. It’s in the hard set of his brow, the downward slope of his mouth. “Of course I don’t.” His voice comes out so soft I almost can’t bear it.
