Every Last Secret(52)

I passed through the arched opening and spotted our husbands already by the firepit, glasses in hand, the ice drenched in something golden. “That better not be tequila,” I warned the pair as I slipped my arms around Matt.

“Let’s pretend it’s not.” Matt smiled at me, and I rose on my toes, gently planting a kiss on his lips.

I stole his glass and peered at him over the rim, playing the sexy, coy wife. “Let’s pretend I’m not going to steal it from you.” I tipped back his glass and was rewarded by a chuckle from William. A chuckle I ignored, turning my head to call out to Cat. “Need any help?”

From the kitchen, she scooped a slice of my blueberry pie onto a plate and hummed along with the Stanford fight song. “Nah. Just find out who’s eating.”

I glanced at William. “Are you going to eat any of my pie?” I kept my expression blank and innocent, devoid of the playfulness I’d given Matt.

He studied me, trying to understand if I heard the sexual innuendo in the words. “Sure,” he said finally. “I’ll have a piece.”

I would have preferred a comment about how much he loved my pie, but I still chalked it up as a step in the right direction.



A round of pie later, I was in the kitchen struggling with a bottle of champagne when William came in, two plates in hand, and gave me an awkward smile. “Here. Let me get that for you.”

“Thanks.” I sighed. “This cork is a pain.”

He took the heavy bottle, our arms brushing, and I forced myself to take a step away. Grabbing a dish towel, I dried off my hands as I watched him. “Look. About the other day . . .” I glanced toward the back deck, Cat and Matt still involved in a heated debate over whether a stop sign was needed at the Rolling Pine intersection. She cupped her glass to her chest, and I was pleased to see the bottle of limoncello beside her, over half of it gone. Were her words slurring yet? “It was a mistake, and all my fault. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again—it can’t happen again.”

He nodded. “I’m glad to hear you say that. I feel the same way. I—”

“Good. That’s a relief.” I blew out a breath and managed an awkward laugh. “I was worried that you would want to . . .”

“Wanting shouldn’t be part of the equation,” he said quietly, his forearms flexing as he popped the cork, the sound adding an exclamation point to the end of the statement.

“No,” I agreed, letting my own voice fall to match his, and injected a hint of yearning into the single syllable. I cleared my throat. “So, we’re agreed. Never again.”

“Never again.” He nodded, holding my gaze, and I warmed at the sexual tension that crackled between us.

Wanting to end on a high note, I turned to the cabinet and plucked out a fresh flute. I took my time in pouring the champagne, listening as William’s steps rounded the island and headed toward the sofa, the kickoff in progress.

Another woman might have seen the conversation as a fail, but I knew exactly what I was doing.

I stuck my head out the back door to call Matt in, and paused, my back stiffening as I saw him take a sip from Cat’s glass. He paused, then took another. I heard her giggle and strode out to the pair. “What are you doing?” I snatched the glass from his hand and shoved it at Cat. “You hate limoncello.”

“Aw, I convinced him to give it another try. Like I said, this one is amazing. It’s like candy.” She put her hand on Matt’s arm, and I stared at the contact, hoping her fingers would turn black and rot off. “Isn’t it? Tell me that you didn’t enjoy it.”

He blushed under her attention, and I glared at him, daring him to agree. Catching my look, he straightened. “It’s, uh, still not for me. Too sour.”

“The game’s back on,” I said sharply. “We should get inside.”

“Oh, sure.” Cat stood, reaching for the bottle. She misjudged the distance, and I flinched when the bottle tilted off the table and fell toward the tile. There was a sharp crack as it landed, and I jumped back as glass and liqueur shot in all directions. Cat cursed and whirled to me with an anguished expression. “Oh, Neena, I’m so sorry. I must—” She swayed to one side, and I wished William were here to see what a mess she was.

“Don’t worry about it,” I bit out. “I’ll clean it up. Go sit in the living room and keep William company. Matt, you, too. I don’t want you to miss the game.”

“But you went to all that—that workkkk to find it.” She slurred the word and sank into a wobbly crouch, picking up glass shards and collecting them in her palm. “I’m so sowrrry.”

“Seriously, stop.” I pulled on her arm and got her upright. “I’ve got this.”

Matt stepped carefully over the broken bottle, his cast held high, as if he were wading through waist-deep water. Coaxing Cat into the living room, he led the way, pausing to assist when she tripped over the transom.

She should really go home. She couldn’t be feeling well. After cleaning up the mess, I’d suggest it.

I took my time sweeping the broken pieces into a dustpan, then went over the floor with a dry mop, then a wet one. By the time I made it back to the living room, Cat was curled into the right side of the sofa, her heels off, feet tucked underneath her. Her face looked almost gray, and I studied her carefully as I took the chair closest to William. “Are you feeling okay?”