Lizzie Blake's Best Mistake (A Brush with Love, #2)(76)

And then there was Lizzie, her eyes wild and grin huge, her two front teeth missing. Her arms were stiff at her sides, the tension visible in the tiny little body, like she’d been told to hold still and the effort to do so was physically challenging. Rake loved the picture so much, he wanted to steal it.

The doorbell rang, and moments later it opened, a friendly female voice calling out hello. A couple, just a few years older than Rake and Lizzie, entered the living room. The woman was impeccably dressed, and layers of honey-colored hair framed her delicate and lovely features. The man was a younger version of Douglas, offering a genuine smile as he took in Lizzie and Rake.

“Lizzie!” the woman said, stretching out her arms and walking toward the corner. “I’m so glad to see you. It’s been so long.”

“Hi, Mary,” Lizzie said, wrapping her arms around the petite woman, an uncharacteristic level of delicacy in the way she did it. Lizzie usually hugged with the joyful force of a bulldozer.

Ryan cut in, giving Lizzie a hug that seemed to catch her by surprise. “It’s good to see you,” Ryan said, pulling back.

Ryan and Mary turned to Rake, crossing the room with smiles as they shook his hand.

“And so good to meet you!” Mary said, her voice bubbly and kind. “Glad you could make it this weekend.”

Claire walked in, Douglas right behind her, and she beamed as she looked at her son.

“Ryan, Mary, so glad you’re here,” Claire said, moving to them with outstretched hands, her greeting one hundred degrees kinder than anything she’d given to Rake and Lizzie. “Dinner is all ready,” she said, looping one arm through Mary’s as they walked toward the dining room.

A pristine white tablecloth covered the table, fresh flowers in a crystal vase sitting in the center of the grand display of china. Each setting had already been served, steaming roast and vegetables placed in perfect portions on each plate.

They sat, Rake and Lizzie on one side, Ryan and Mary on the other, with Claire and Douglas at either end.

An awkward silence fell over the table as they settled in. Rake glanced at Lizzie, her body humming with energy as her eyes flicked around the room—plates, ceiling, flowers, silverware, corner—no spot safe for her to land on.

Mary delicately cleared her throat. “Tell us about yourself, Rake,” she said, fixing him with a kind smile. “What do you do for work?”

Rake gave his basic spiel about marketing for Onism and mentioned some of the freelance projects he’d picked up, wondering, for the first time, why adults spent so much time working and the rest of their time talking about work. Rake noticed the subtle pursing of Claire’s lips as he explained Onism was a swimwear line, but Mary and Ryan both asked interested, if not predictable, questions about it.

“And what do you two do?” Rake asked.

“I’m an electrical engineer,” Mary said, her smile bright. “And Ryan practices law like Douglas,” she added.

“They’re both exceptionally accomplished young professionals,” Claire said, nodding toward Mary.

“Mar is an absolute genius,” Lizzie said, smiling at Rake. That’s what was so remarkable about Lizzie: Her pride and adoration for the people around her felt like the most genuine force in the world. She gushed about the accomplishments of others with unfettered joy.

“Mary is quite smart, yes,” Claire said, cutting a small bite of roast. “She and Ryan both attended the University of Pennsylvania,” she added. As though Rake gave a fuck.

“What was Lizzie like as a kid?” Rake asked abruptly, the tone and direction of Claire’s comments raising his hackles. He directed the question toward Ryan, hoping he could inject good humor into this rapid spiral of awkward tension.

Ryan chuckled. “Lizzie has always been a firecracker,” he said, shooting her a big smile. Lizzie returned it with a hesitant quirk of her lips.

“From the moment she learned how to walk, she was always into trouble,” Douglas said, taking a bite of food and chewing loudly. Rake watched Lizzie’s smile slip, her shoulders curving into a protective shell as she looked down at her lap.

“But she was the funniest kid,” Ryan interjected, smiling again. “Lizzie, remember your Superman cape?”

Lizzie’s head shot up, a genuine smile curving her mouth. “I totally forgot about that. How old was I? I feel like I was really little for that.”

Ryan nodded. “I was in my superhero phase around eight, so you were probably, what, five?” Ryan turned to look at Rake, humor lighting up his features. “Lizzie was obsessed with Superman,” he explained. “She used to beg me to lift her over my head so she could pretend like she was flying.”

Lizzie snorted beside Rake, but there was no missing the harsh glance Claire shot her at the noise.

“She found this red towel in the linen closet and made me pin it onto her every day. Every. Single. Day.” Ryan rolled his eyes with good humor, looking at Lizzie.

She let out one of her signature laughs. “Oh my God, the towel.” She slapped a hand to her forehead, her shoulders bouncing with giggles. “I was obsessed with having my cape,” she said, turning to Rake. “Refused to leave home without it. I’d run around with a fist in the air while using the other to hold back the cape.”

Lizzie continued to laugh, but Claire caught her eye, giving the subtlest shake of her head while she made a soft shushing sound, delicately pumping her hand toward the ground to tell Lizzie to lower the volume.