A Lie for a Lie (All In, #1)(16)

“Tell me more about your family.”

“Like what?” She pops a brussels sprout into her mouth and chews thoughtfully.

“What do your parents do for a living?”

“They’re dairy farmers. I have to admit, I haven’t missed getting up at the crack of dawn to milk cows the past couple of days, although there really hasn’t been a dawn to speak of either.” Lainey takes another sip of her wine. Her glass is almost empty.

“I grew up on a farm too. Gotta say I don’t miss those early mornings either.” I uncork the wine and refill her glass and mine.

Lainey sits up straighter, and her eyes go wide with that excitement I’ve seen a few times already tonight. “Oh! What kind of farmers?”

“Alpaca.”

“Really? That must have been so fun! They’re just so adorable.”

“They can be—when you’re not trying to shear them, anyway.”

She leans in closer, eager for more information. “Tell me all about that. I want to know everything. How often do they mate? What’s it like to raise them? Did you get attached? Did they all have names?” She’s just so sweet.

I laugh and tell her all about my childhood growing up on an alpaca farm, happy to have something else in common that I can share with her.

“And is that what you do now? Farm alpacas?”

I hesitate, weighing my options. For the first time in years I feel . . . normal. Being here, in this place with so many good memories—of the time before hockey took over my life, when I was just RJ enjoying my summer and fishing and being a regular guy. I want to hold on to that for as long as can.

There’s no pressure, no self-doubt that she’s only interested because of my career and my bank account. Besides, what’s the harm in telling her a little white lie? In a different life, if I hadn’t been such a good hockey player, I would be an alpaca farmer. “It’s what I grew up doing.” It’s not a straight answer—so not a complete lie, but not the truth either.

“That’s so great. Do you have other siblings who work with you?”

“Both my brother and sister decided on other professions. My brother works in animation, and my sister wants to work in sports therapy. She’s still in school.”

“That’s so nice. All of my brothers went into dairy farming. One of my sisters does all the bookkeeping, and my other two sisters help with distribution.”

I shift the conversation away from myself, feeling uncomfortable that I just blatantly lied to her. “So you’re the only one who didn’t go into dairy farming? Was that hard?”

Lainey looks down at her glass and shrugs. “I still help out, but I didn’t go to school for anything agriculture related. At first it was tough. My family likes to stick together, and they’re pretty protective of me—being the youngest and all—but I really enjoy learning, so I keep finding new things I love to study.” She leans back in her chair and cups her glass of wine in her palms, like she’s holding a bowl. “What about you? Did you go to college?”

“For a couple of years, but school wasn’t my favorite. I like to be moving instead of sitting.”

“Mmm. Yes. I can see that.” Her eyes drift over my T-shirt-covered chest, and she bites her lip. I don’t think she’s being coy, just honest. She clears her throat and touches the back of her hand to her flushed cheek. “I think this wine is going to my head. Is it really warm in here?”

“You’ve got the wine blush. It looks good on you.”

“I should probably hold off on finishing this glass.” She sets it down and pushes back her chair. “I’ll help clear the table.” She arranges her fork and knife on her plate, which she cleared impressively, and takes it to the sink to rinse it off.

I put away the condiments while Lainey rearranges the dishwasher for me. She also refuses to put the pots and pans in there, assuring me they won’t come clean and it will just bake on and be ten times harder to get off.

“I can wash.” Lainey bumps her hip against mine, nudging me out of the way.

“You’re my guest—you don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind.” She puts the plug in the drain, squirts some dish soap into the sink, and turns on the tap. “The hot water is actually really nice.”

I lean against the counter. “What do you mean?”

“Just a bit of trouble with the water heater at the cabin.” The fact that she doesn’t look at me tells me there’s probably more than a bit of a problem.

“Do you have hot water?”

“It’ll be worked out soon.” She waves a soapy hand, flinging suds in the air. They land on her chest and in her hair—and also on me. “Oh! I’m so sorry!”

She wipes her sudsy hands on her jeans and starts brushing them off my chest and neck. I don’t stop her, because I’m more than happy to have her hands on me.

She makes the most adorable face. “There’s some in your hair. I’m really sorry—I get flaily when I’m nervous, which is a lot of the time. And then I start talking and I can’t stop.”

“Am I making you nervous?” I bite back a smile.

“Well, not you, exactly, but the whole situation at my cabin—and I don’t want you to think I came here because I want your help or anything. Or that I’m trying to mooch a meal off of you or take over your kitchen. Really, I just wanted to see you again, and say I’m sorry, and thank you.”