Undeniable (Cloverleigh Farms #2)(46)

April Sawyer came over to say hello, and I kissed her cheek. “Good to see you, April. This is Alison.”

“His fiancée,” Alison informed her, holding out a pale, manicured hand.

“Of course.” April smiled warmly at her and glanced at the ring. “So nice to meet you, and congratulations on your engagement.”

“Thank you. We’re very happy.” Alison gave me a look like I was a dog who hadn’t performed a trick when prompted.

“I need a drink,” I said. “Can I get either of you anything?”

“I’m fine,” April said. “But order anything you like at the bar.”

“I’ll take a glass of wine.” Alison looked around at the guests, mostly family, close friends, and employees of Cloverleigh. I could totally imagine her sizing everyone up, judging them by what they wore. Things like labels mattered to her.

“We have great wine here,” said April. “Oliver, take her into the bar and check out the new renovations.”

“I’ll do that, thanks.” I took Alison’s arm, mostly because she expected me to, and led her into the restaurant. The bar was over to one side, and I immediately spotted Chloe standing at it with friends. She held a drink in her hand, and she was laughing at something someone had said, her face all lit up.

She was even more beautiful than I remembered, and I remembered her a lot.

It wasn’t even on purpose. Thinking about Chloe made me feel shitty—I knew I shouldn’t have done what I did, and I had no good excuse. I’d tried, over the last few years, to pinpoint exactly what it was that made me abandon her that way, and I hadn’t come up with one good reason except … I was an immature jackass and not ready to take anything seriously. But she’d always known that about me, hadn’t she? And really, we hadn’t made any promises to each other. We’d just tossed around some ideas. She couldn’t hold it against me forever.

Avoiding her for now, I steered Alison toward the opposite end of the bar, barely noticing the renovations April had mentioned.

“What’s wrong?” Alison asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Nothing.” I cleared my throat and faced the bartender. “What kind of red wine do you have?”

He listed some of Cloverleigh’s varietals.

“Are they all from Michigan?” Alison asked, turning up her nose.

It made me angry, but rather than defend the merits of Michigan wine, I bit my tongue. While the bartender went through additional choices, I snuck a glance at Chloe over Alison’s shoulder. She was still smiling, and her dimples made my pulse quicken. Goddammit, why wasn’t it me making her laugh?

“Oliver?”

I looked at Alison and blinked. “What?”

“What do you want to drink?” She pointed her nose at the bartender, who had clearly been waiting for my order.

“Oh, sorry.” Scanning the shelves behind the bar—I wasn’t surprised to note they held no Brown Eyed Girl spirits—I ordered a Kentucky bourbon and told myself not to look at Chloe again.

But the moment Alison started glancing around and listing all the reasons why she wouldn’t hold a wedding here—too small, too dark, too rustic—I found it impossible not to let my eyes wander over her shoulder again.

This time, Chloe spotted me. I knew the moment it happened, because the grin slid right off her face, and her entire demeanor changed. Her posture went stiff. Her eyes narrowed. She pressed her lips together. Tension hummed in the air between us, and beneath my suit, gooseflesh prickled over my skin.

She looked back at the person she’d been talking to, and I attempted to refocus on Alison. But even after our drinks arrived and I took a few big swallows to steady my nerves, I could not keep my eyes where they were supposed to be.

Alison finally complained. “You’re not listening to a word I’m saying. And who on earth do you keep looking at behind me?”

“No one.”

She glanced over her shoulder, and I swear to God she used some kind of black-magic, sixth-sense bullshit to zero right in on Chloe. “Who is she?”

I played dumb. “Who?”

She focused on me with laser-like intensity. “That girl you were looking at with the dark hair in the short black dress.”

I pretended to look for the woman in question. “You mean Chloe?”

“I don’t know, Oliver,” she snapped. “Do I mean Chloe?”

“I think so. She’s one of the Sawyer sisters.”

She looked over her shoulder again, and unfortunately it was at the exact same second Chloe’s eyes shifted to me once more.

A tense moment followed, then Chloe gave me the finger.

I’d have laughed if I wasn’t so on edge.

Alison, who was too cool to make a scene, turned to face me again. “What’s that all about?”

I swallowed some bourbon. “It’s nothing. Childhood grudge—she and I used to be really competitive. I beat her at everything.”

“And now she flips you the bird at parties.” Alison took another sip of wine. “Classy.”

“She’s just—” I stopped, unsure how to describe Chloe. It wasn’t that she lacked class, she simply didn’t tolerate bullshit. You had to respect her for it. “We just have a certain kind of history is all.”