Craft (The Gibson Boys 2)

“Come on,” he jokes. “You’re at least the chocolate pie.”

“I don’t know …” I say, the end of my words tinged with a laugh.

“You want to leave? We leave. You want to be the last person there? We stay. I’m here for you.” He looks me dead in the eye and I fight hard not to let him see me melt into a puddle. “If things get rough, just climb on my back and I’ll haul your ass out.” His head goes side-to-side like he’s thinking. “I might grab your ass on the way out though. Just warning you.”

“You’d hate that, wouldn’t you?”

“Hell no,” he grins. “I might do it just to show your ex what he’s missing.”

My face twists up as I come to terms with seeing Eric. There’s a question dangling in the air but Lance doesn’t ask it. I wait until we hit the next stoplight and then just ask him what’s on his mind.

“This Eric, that’s his name right?” He asks as I nod. “How serious were you?”

I think back on the day he broke things off with me. How he called me at work and asked me to come right to his apartment because he wanted to talk. How that day I thought maybe, just maybe, this was the talk I was waiting for—the one that came dotted with a simple ring and a promise of a lifetime.

This is not something I want to discuss with Lance. It’s somewhat embarrassing, even though I know it’s not necessarily a reflection of me. It took me a long, long time to even semi-believe that and I’m not to the point where I can rock that attitude like it’s my job. Yet.

“I thought I’d marry him,” I admit. “I knew he’d been looking at rings because he left a browser open on the computer. I was really just waiting on him to pop the question,” I say, refusing to look at Lance. “Then he breaks up with me out of nowhere, so I figure he’s getting cold feet. It happens. But then six weeks or something later, I’m asked to come to lunch at Mom’s and there he sits with Chrissy.”

“Your mom just let this happen?” he asks in disbelief.

“Oh, yeah,” I nod enthusiastically. “It was my fault I was boring and didn’t fix myself up or stay exciting. What’s a man to do?”

Lance’s knuckles turn white as they grip the steering wheel. The tires bark a little as we take the final turn. I watch him in awe as he physically reacts to this story. That he cares enough, in any respect, to even react at all is both a little shocking and mind-blowing at once.

As the house comes into view, my breathing becomes ragged. I blow out a measured breath as the car climbs the hill up to the driveway.

“Here we are,” he says, parking behind a giant white SUV. “If I need bail, call Walker. You’d think Machlan because he owns a bar and this is more his speed, but he’d just find Eric and go at him for round two.”

Swatting his shoulder, I giggle. “You won’t need bail. They aren’t fighting people. Just assholes.”

“Yeah,” he says as he pops open his door. “But I am fighting people and I have a thing against assholes.”

He shakes his head, warning me not to open my door as he rounds the corner of the car. I sit like a princess, waiting for my door to be opened. It’s amusing and endearing at the same time because, although he’s done this a few times, something is slightly different about it now. And I’m okay with that.

“Listen,” I say as we start up the long sidewalk lined with rose bushes. “They are different from me.”

“I met your mother, remember?” he groans.

“Yes, but today will be different. Today she has Chrissy and the baby.” My throat is tight as I force a swallow. “They’re her pride and joy. I’m used to it. I know what it’s going to be like. But—”

He whirls me around to face him. Startled, I gasp but the breath falls slowly away as my eyes catch up with his.

He peers down at me, his green eyes sparkling. “You’re here because you’re the bigger person. I’m here because I’m with you. If they try to make you feel any less than you are—less smart or beautiful or talented—it’s because they’re insecure.”

There are hundreds of responses to that, but I can’t seem to utter a single one. His compassionate words have incapacitated mine.

My heart pounds as his hands cup my cheeks. “If I even think you’re starting to let them get to you, we’re gone.” He presses a sweet, simple kiss to the center of my cheek. It’s the most unloaded kiss I’ve ever received from him, but maybe my favorite one too.