When he was thirty, he’d had a chance to confirm it. Beautiful. His fingers itched at the memory, and he pushed the thought aside.
He was now thirty-three. And Brynn wouldn’t be wanting him anywhere near her bra straps.
“You didn’t answer my question about what you’re doing here,” she said, her thin body looking increasingly tense beneath her boring gray suit.
“That’s because you didn’t ask nicely.”
Her nostrils fluttered briefly. “You’ve been gone for three years. You haven’t so much as called my family on Christmas. You completely abandoned my parents without a good-bye and you never even come to visit Sophie, who’s supposedly your best friend—”
“I’ve visited,” he interrupted. “Not often, but I’ve been back to Seattle a couple times each year.”
She blinked in surprise. “Do my parents know? God, Will, you were like a son to them.”
Will leaned forward slightly. “Last time I was in town I stayed in your parents’ guest room. The time before that, I slept on Sophie and Gray’s couch. So you see, Princess…the only Dalton I was ignoring was you.”
Will watched her reaction carefully.
But there was none.
Her expression hadn’t changed a bit, and he felt a surge of frustration. The Brynn he’d known had been rigid but always willing to rise to the bait and show fire.
This version of Brynn wasn’t just the illusion of ice—she was ice. He’d clearly made a mistake in staying away too long, and everyone else in her life had let her get too comfortable in her structured little routine, with all of her stupid rules and lists.
An older couple approached to wish her happy birthday, and Will watched as she smoothly thanked them for coming and asked about their children by name, which he was sure were filed away in some elaborate contact list somewhere.
She didn’t introduce him to the couple, which suited him just fine. He was sure he wouldn’t like whatever title he’d be given.
“How long until you slink back to Boston?” she asked him when they were alone again.
“A while.”
“Could you be more specific?” she snapped.
“You know, Princess, whatever ailment had you in the bathroom for an hour has really messed with your mood.”
“I wasn’t in there for an hour,” she snarled as she took another gulp of her champagne. Despite her claims of not wanting it, her glass was nearly empty. He was pushing her limits, exactly as planned.
It was time to get what he’d come for. “So who’s the sallow-looking fellow you were dragging around like a whipped dog?”
Her eyes closed briefly. “Go away, Will.”
He ignored this. “New boyfriend?”
“Not new. James and I have been dating for two years.”
Will already knew that, of course. Sophie kept him updated. But he wanted to see if there was any change in Brynn when she talked about her guy. Not so much as a flicker.
Excellent news.
As if on cue, Brynn’s mannequin of a boyfriend appeared at her side. “There you are, sweetheart. I figured you’d be making the rounds with the guests.”
I’m not a guest, jackass. I know her better than you do.
Brynn set her hand on James’s arm and Will was careful not to let his eyes linger on the touch. Careful not to punch the guy’s bland features.
Brynn beamed up at her boyfriend. “James, this is Will Thatcher. He’s an old friend of the family.”
“Oh, sure,” James said, with a nod of his boring, all-American head. “You’re Sophie’s friend, right? The one who moved to Boston?”