Stacking the Deck (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 2)(18)

Beth watched as her brother ducked his head, a strange look on his face. “Hey, Val.”





CHAPTER EIGHT


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LIZ SWALLOWED.

Oh. My. God. She just ate a swiss cake roll. Correction. Two swiss cake rolls.

Grant would be appalled. Hadn’t he only last week asked her to start adding flax seed meal to her entrees so he could up his Omega-3’s without worrying about mercury? He’d never understand the decadent sweets she’d just inhaled!

Cripes. Forget about what Grant would think. She was appalled! Where was her self-control? Her good judgment? Here she was eating junk food and agreeing to maybe go to some reunion thing, and, God help her, hiring Carter for the patio job, because it would be way too complicated to explain to her mom why it was a bad idea now. Och. Not in town 24 hours and already things were railroading downhill on her.

Back at the house, Liz surreptitiously wiped chocolate cake crumbs off her skirt as Carter carried in the bags. She unpacked the food onto the table and began carrying perishables to the fridge. “If you give me the receipt, I’ll get you a check before you leave.”

Carter handed her the watermelon. Who bought watermelon in April? “You’re cooking, aren’t you? Why should you pay for the food?”

“Even so, I was stocking up. If you leave the receipt—”

“Forget it. You can make us dinner another night if it makes you feel better.”

Liz held the refrigerator door between them like a shield. Her breath stuck in her windpipe. “Another night?”

He handed her a dozen eggs and she stared at the carton pensively before sliding it into its protective bin. She squelched her inner June who was already giddily planning the next meal’s menu. “Or not. Sorry. Thinking with my stomach again. No, don’t put the dip away.”

Liz handed over the dip and picked up the chuck roast. What the heck was she doing with a chuck roast? Feeding her teenage fantasies, that’s what. “No. You’re right. Dinner’s a great idea. I’ll invite Bailey, too. It’ll be fun.”

“Absolutely.”

Liz nodded and handed him the bag of chips. “You surprised me, you know. My Aunt Claire said your uncle would be stopping by today.”

“He threw his back out, so you got me.” Carter glanced at her as he popped the lids off two bottles of ale and handed one to her.

“I’m sorry to hear—oh.” She paused. “That’s why you were late today, isn’t it?”

“Yup.” He took a long slug of ale.

Her face flushed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I even mentioned it. I think I’m just stressed over everything that needs to be done around here.” She let her voice trail off. It sounded like a lame excuse even to her own ears.

Carter handed her the bacon.

Liz blew out a little breath. “I’ve offended you.”

“Not offended,” he said, his lips tilting a little at the corner. “More annoyed.”

She frowned. “If I annoyed you, why did you invite me out? I mean, why did you ask me for dinner, er, to get food?”

“You were indecisive. I was hungry.” His eyebrow did that wingy thing again as his lips twitched. “You didn’t think it was a date, did you?”

“No! Of course not! How could it be?” She gave an awkward laugh. “That’s the last thing I’d want—”

“Right, then.”

“Right.”

Liz gripped the bacon, mortification coursing through her veins. Of course it wasn’t a date! Hadn’t she been telling herself that very thing? “Well, at least we’ve cleared that up.” She forced another chuckle, taking her own sip of ale, the taste smooth and foreign on her tongue. She hadn’t had a beer in ages. Grant was more of a wine guy. “I really am sorry about your uncle. I hope it’s not serious.”

“No more than usual.” Carter shrugged. “It’s what you get from making a living off your back.”

“Maybe, but he’s awfully young to be disabled by—”

“He’s not disabled.”

“I didn’t mean to—“

“I know what you meant.” Carter cut her off again then seemed to realize how abrupt he sounded. “He’s fine, that’s all. It’s not like he needs to retire or anything. He’s fine.”

Liz nodded wordlessly and decided she had better get dinner started. Soon the bacon was sizzling in a pan. She took another sip of ale and wondered if the text Grant had sent was important.

Carter fiddled with the bottle opener. “So, what’s John up to these days?”

“Who knows? I haven’t heard from him in months.”

Carter grimaced. “Sorry. I’d hoped he’d settled down some.”

“You’re not the only one.” She swiped at grease spattering up at her arm and adjusted the burner a little. “I suppose you hoped it was John helping my parents out. So you could catch up with him, I mean.”

“I’m glad it’s you.”

“You are?” Liz fumbled the fork she was using to flip the bacon and wiped hot grease dots from the back of her hand. “Why would you...?”

Carter leaned against the counter, studying her. He took a sip of ale. “You always seemed to have big plans. I guess I was curious how you’d turned out.”