Beard Necessities (Winston Brothers, #7)(76)

“Thanks. We will,” I said, exchanging another nod with my brother-in-law as he stood and moved off to find my sister.

My gaze shifted to Scarlet and we watched each other for a few beats of my heart. I’d planned to say, Is this seat taken?

But before I could say my line, she said, “Hello, stranger.”

“Stranger?” I repeated, trying the word on, lifting an eyebrow and then shaking my head. “Nope. Don’t like that word.”

Scarlet laughed lightly at my response, her smile making her look less weary, and she gestured to the stool Drew had just vacated. “Are you sitting here?” she asked.

“Is this seat taken?” There. I said my line. Now we were back on track.

“It is now,” she replied, just like I’d wanted.

So I sat on the stool, making a point to scoot an inch closer to her. This earned me a look of amused suspicion. Not a bad start.

I met her gaze squarely and, before I could catch the impulse, asked, “Seriously, do you mind if I sit here?” The last thing I wanted to be was someone she tolerated.

“No, Billy. I don’t mind.” She bumped my shoulder with hers, adding quietly, “I’ve missed you.”

This warmed me to hear and I knew what she meant. We’d talked briefly and intermittently over the past few days about nothing of consequence. We hadn’t descended back into stoic politeness, but I’d been careful to give her space. What I’d done wasn’t a small thing to forgive, and I certainly hadn’t forgiven myself.

Looking at her now, I swallowed around a rock of remorse, saying, “I’m sorry.” I hadn’t said it since our talk by the stream. Before I moved forward with any flirting tonight, I felt like I needed to say it again—for her, but also for myself. “I’m so sorry.”

“I appreciate the apology,” she said, wearing a smile that wasn’t reflected in her eyes. “And I’m also sorry.”

“What for?” Now that we were up close, I studied her. She definitely looked tired, and this conversation only seemed to weigh her down, which had not been my goal.

“For not telling you about Bethany.” Her forced smile diminished by degrees. “She really was just trying to do the right thing and look after you.”

I knew my mother, I knew her intentions, and I believed Scarlet’s interpretation of the situation to be true. However, it still seriously pissed me off. No one should’ve made Scarlet feel like less. Not ever.

Regardless, I wasn’t sitting here to talk about the past. I was here to ease her burdens, help her find her smile, so I said, “Thank you for telling me, and you’re forgiven.”

Her gaze told me I’d surprised her as it flickered over me. “Really? I’m forgiven? Just like that?”

“Yes.” I nodded. “Jethro recently reminded me of something our mother used to say, which—ironically—seems relevant. Whenever us kids would lose our temper with each other, she’d tell us, People only hold grudges when they can’t forgive themselves.” Needing to touch her, even if it was just in a small way, I lifted my fingers to her temple and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I don’t want grudges between us.”

When she smiled this time it looked more sincere, perhaps even relieved. “Me neither.”

“In fact,” I muttered, lifting the guitar onto my lap, “I don’t even want clothes between us.”

She reared back. “What did you just say?”

“I said, I don’t know how you made those sloppy joes, for all of us.” I blatantly lied, holding her eyes, examining her reaction to my ridiculous falsehood before adding, “Dinner was exceptional. Thank you.”

Scarlet had turned our meatloaf leftovers into sloppy joes. It had been quite impressive, but those were definitely not my words and we both knew it. This better work.

“You’re welcome,” she said haltingly, her forehead wrinkling even as her mouth curved, like she didn’t know what to think of me.

I slid my hand along the neck of the guitar. “When do I get to cook dinner for you?”

Her eyes widened, giving me the sense my question both surprised and delighted her. “Uh, whenever you want.”

“Whenever I want.” I strummed a chord, then another, the opening bar for Gordon Lightfoot’s “Fine As Fine Can Be.” “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Please do.” She shrugged. “How about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow we’ll be in Venice. But after that we’ll be in Rome. I’ll do it then.”

Her eyebrows pulled together. “We will be in Rome?”

“That’s right. I keep meaning to ask, will our place have a kitchen?” Considering my heart was in my throat when I asked the question, I was mighty impressed by the tranquility of my tone.

She turned more fully to face me. “Are you coming with me?”

“Of course.” I also turned, arranging myself such that both she and her stool were between my legs. So far so good. “You just asked me to make you dinner.”

Her mouth dropped open and she sputtered for a second before saying, “I did no such thing! You offered.”

“Scarlet, it’s fine.” I played the opening notes to Dolly Parton’s “I Will Always Love You.” “I don’t mind. But if you wanted me to come to Rome, you could’ve just asked.” My lips wanted to tug to the side at her incredulous and adorable expression, but I managed to keep my face straight.