Worth the Risk(65)
Betsy clears her throat. “That isn’t what I said.”
“You don’t have to. He’s your son. Luke’s your grandson. Just like I’m sure you’ve heard rumors about me—then and now—I’ve heard them about you.” Her lips purse and eyes narrow. “Like how fiercely protective you are of your family. How you want all your boys settled down and happy. I get it. I do . . .” But I was the one who got his wrath because of it.
“I know Grayson’s wishes for Luke come first. They always should. I overstepped, and because of it, I landed us both in hot water—irrational, overreacted, or not. I’m sorry. I . . .” The sincerity swimming in Betsy’s eyes, and the disappointment in herself over her actions, is clear as day. As much as I want to be mad at her, I can’t. She didn’t do this alone. Knowing how Grayson felt about women around Luke, I should have known better. I should have made an excuse and not gone to the picnic. Luke would have been disappointed, but at least then I would have been respecting Grayson’s wishes. “Please forgive me,” she says.
“Thank you for your apology, but like I said, it isn’t needed.”
Her shoulders heave with her sigh of relief. “Grayson was also upset about what the gossip column might print . . . I didn’t think of that when we invited you, so I called a friend and made sure that nothing about the picnic and your attendance would be reported in the upcoming gossip column.”
I hadn’t thought of that, either, or the repercussions it would have on Luke. After the last photo landed him in a fight at school, I should have considered it. I should have considered a lot of things I hadn’t. Christ, this is so much more complicated than it needs to be. So much more everything. “Thank you, Betsy. I never would have thought about that and how it would affect Luke.”
“Luke would be able to handle it just fine; it’s my son who would go through the roof,” she says and winks playfully. “I was actually on my way to your office when I saw you. I couldn’t stand thinking that you and Gray had gotten into a fight because of something I’d allowed.”
“It’s fine.”
“Okay, then,” she says as she sits up some, “I’ll let you get back to it. I’m sure you have a ton of work to do with the magazine and the contest and all that.”
I smile and nod, completely stunned by how the woman I should be mad at has kind of won me over.
This small-town air is definitely messing with my vibe.
“Have a good day,” I add.
“You, too.” Betsy takes a few steps away, and then just before I look down to my laptop, she turns back to me. “Sidney?”
“Mm-hmm?” I’m more than aware that some of the eyes in the coffee shop have turned our way.
“My son is a good man. Don’t let anything I’ve done deter you from, let’s say, taking a chance on him.”
My eyebrows lift. “Oh.”
“I mean, the fact that he’s never really mentioned you to me says more than anything. That means he wants me to steer clear and not mess things up for him. Maybe you’re the one who’ll change his mind about not wanting to take a chance on marriage and the like again.”
This time, I choke on my breath—not because of what she said but because of the sudden interest our conversation is getting. I figure I’ll swallow the shock value and use this attention to my advantage. “I’m flattered you think that, but honestly, my main focus right now is Modern Family. Besides the fact that I’m not looking for a relationship, I don’t think it’d be very fair if I were to run the contest and be involved with Grayson at the same time. That might come off a little biased to the general public.” I take a sip of coffee. “Anything you’ve read in the Gazette is plain rumor.”
“Okay.” Betsy draws the words out as I glance around at all the people who are listening but trying to make it seem as if they aren’t.
Her smile widens when she steps beside me and pats me on the shoulder as she whispers. “Good thinking. We’ll keep this our little secret. A woman knows when another woman is smitten with a man, and I can tell you’re smitten.”
The sigh of awe she gives before she walks away has me shaking my head and questioning whether I adore her more for that last statement or if I think she’s crazy.
The crickets sing through the night air as I watch Grayson from where I stand midway down the street.
I couldn’t resist. I tried. I reminded myself it’s just sex, it’s just lust, it’s nothing serious. Yet, here I am after the debacle of yesterday and the canceling of our planned date via text.
He’s sitting on the porch swing, holding a beer in one hand and music playing softly somewhere near him. He’s deep in thought—that much I can tell, but I can only imagine over what.
There’s a sadness to him, an air of a man in conflict, which twists my insides in ways that tell me I care about him when I’m not sure if it’s a good idea.
This is why I’ve never gotten involved with someone who had kids. Too much baggage. Too much drama. Too much stress, when a relationship is hard enough as it is.
As much as I tell myself that I should turn around and quietly walk the miles back to my house, I move forward, down the sidewalk and up his front walk. I know he knows I’m there—I can tell by the slight pause of the beer to his lips before continuing—but he doesn’t speak, and he doesn’t turn my way.