The Memory of You (Sanctuary Sound #1)(37)
His heart bathed in love every single time she smiled at him.
No regrets.
Val had come into his life when he needed someone sexy and brash to hold his attention and soothe his wounds, but his heart had left that relationship long before his wife had. One great thing came of the bad marriage, though. They’d produced this magnificent little person, so in that regard it had been time well spent.
Divorce handed him a chance for closure with Steffi, too. Closure and answers that might help him make sure he didn’t fail at love a third time.
He should be happy. He would be happy.
“Go put on gym clothes.” He grinned at his daughter. “I’ll grab the ball.”
Chapter Eight
The aging rock cover band took a break between sets, allowing Steffi to finally talk to her brother and Claire. Not that she had much to contribute to any conversation. A gnat’s attention span would exceed hers tonight, thanks to her “Ryan antennae” being fully operational.
She leaned forward, pretending to be interested in Benny’s story about an employee’s perpetual problem with plumber’s butt. She might’ve pulled it off if her brother hadn’t caught her glancing toward the door again. She couldn’t avert her eyes fast enough to avoid noticing “that look” of his—the one that said he was onto her. But honestly, did he think she and Claire wanted to visualize Brian’s butt crack?
Thankfully, Benny remained clueless about her current obsession with whether or not Ryan would show. If he didn’t, at least all the stomach clenching she’d done while sitting there hoping would give her abs of steel. If Ryan did show, what then?
She’d only seen him at his mother’s house this morning when he’d strolled into the kitchen, fresh from his shower, and filled a tall YETI mug with black coffee. After a quick “Good morning,” he’d made himself scarce while she worked, probably to escape being pressured to show up tonight. A disappointing conclusion, but not as bad as her other thought. The one that whispered that he hadn’t been avoiding her at all. The same one that said he’d simply been preoccupied with the many things that were more important to him than her invitation.
Indifference—a worse status than being hated. Who would’ve guessed she’d miss being hated?
Ryan might no longer look at her with disdain, but that was a long way from wanting her company, as proved by the fact that he still hadn’t walked through the door.
Benny continued staring at her while chugging his beer.
“What?” Steffi finally demanded while mirroring his stance and then taking a long drag of her own beer. Taking an offensive posture had been her go-to method of backing her brothers down.
“Me?” He snickered playfully—a frustrating sign that he hadn’t fallen for her ruse.
“Yeah, you.” Matt’s age-old advice about braving it out rather than admitting defeat rattled between her ears. Show any weakness and the teasing only got more relentless, like the time her brothers had gotten her to climb so high into a tree that she cried when she realized she didn’t know how she’d get down. Matt came up to help her, but then she endured years of teasing and the nickname “Koala” because of the way she clung to the branches. “You keep staring at me with a weird look on your face.”
He shook his head, not falling for her shtick for a second. “You’re the one who looks weird.”
“Is my makeup running or something?” Steffi glanced at Claire while running her fingertips beneath her eyes, hoping for a little support.
“No.” Claire and Benny exchanged a peculiar look, and then Claire added, “But you’re wearing makeup and jewelry. That’s sort of weird.”
“And a skirt and heels,” Benny added, elbowing Claire as they chuckled. Since when did Claire choose Benny’s side? Another cardinal rule of the Lilac Lane League smashed to pieces.
“Wedges,” Steffi corrected, and instantly regretted it, more so when her brother guffawed.
She downed the rest of her beer, pretending her cohorts were both off base when, in fact, she did feel rather ridiculous, especially because Ryan hadn’t come. She’d guessed he wouldn’t, but that hadn’t stopped the sweet fizz of hope from tickling her insides all day.
Hope—the sucker’s credo. From now on, September 7 would be the anniversary of the day that she’d officially lost her wits. Unable to stop herself, she glanced at the door, proving to herself exactly how deranged she’d become.
“Another pitcher?” Her brother stood and strode to the bar for a refill before she and Claire replied.
“He’s not wrong, you know. You’re barely present,” Claire said once they were alone. “Are you having another zone-out?”
“No. I’m just going deaf.” Normally a joke would end the discussion.
Claire clasped Steffi’s hand with a surprisingly firm grip. So strong it caused Steffi to look at their hands. Her own calloused, short, unpainted nails looked so different from Claire’s delicate hands and perfect pink nails. At first blush, not many would pair them up as likely friends, but somehow they were stronger together because of their differences. “Did you make an appointment for a CT scan?”
“Not this again.” She withdrew her hand.
Claire sat back in her chair and huffed. “Your attitude sucks. If I could fix my limp, I’d endure twenty more surgeries and hundreds of tests. We’re talking about your brain! Putting it off won’t make whatever’s wrong easier to cure.”