“On weekends too?”
Sophie took a long sip of her wine and shifted in her seat. “I don’t really know what this is. I thought he was just bringing me along to make the situation more comfortable, but I’ve never seen him as comfortable as he is with you guys, so obviously that’s not it…”
Ashley shook her head. “He comes over every couple weeks or so. No buffer needed.”
Sophie was more confused than ever.
“It’s like I said,” Ashley said gently. “He likes you.”
A sharp rapping at the glass had them both looking up to see Ian staring in the kitchen window, miming shoving something in his mouth and pointing at the fridge.
“Oh crap, I forgot all about the bruschetta,” Ashley said. “I kind of wanted nothing to do with it after a tomato exploded all over my shirt. Sorry, I meant to change first, but I’m comfy.”
Sophie smiled. “Believe me, I like it better this way. I was picturing someone like my mother. Frosty hair, ever-present pearls, and designer slacks.”
Ashley snorted. “Not my thing. Grab that wine while I get the appetizers. Let’s go feed the menfolk.”
By the time the four of them were sitting around the outdoor table to a delicious dinner of barbecue chicken, grilled corn, and all-American potato salad, Sophie was feeling like part of their little dinner-party family.
The way Gray had his arm around the back of her chair and kept toying with the ends of her hair didn’t hurt either. She was starting to get the warm, glowing feeling that Ashley might be right.
Perhaps he did like her.
She grabbed her wineglass and leaned toward him just slightly, relishing the warmth from the wine, the toasty outdoor heaters, and the horribly attractive man by her side.
“So, Sophie,” Ian said, taking a long pull of his beer, “how’s your sister dealing with you stealing her boyfriend?”
Sophie choked on her wine and gave Gray a panicked look. He merely stared back with a raised eyebrow.
“Oh, Gray and I aren’t…We’re not…I didn’t steal anybody,” Sophie said, feeling suddenly sweaty. These damn heaters. Damn wine. Damn man.
Ashley and Ian exchanged a conspiratorial look, but Ashley apparently took pity on her and changed the subject. “So, Gray, do you talk to Mary often?” Ashley asked.
Ian gave them a bland look. “No.”
“Who’s Mary?” Sophie asked.
“His old assistant,” Ashley explained. “He tried to bring her out to Seattle with him, but she didn’t want to move. But I’m betting he never spent time with her outside of the office.”
“Ash,” Gray said mildly. “You’re going to make Sophie uncomfortable.”
Sophie’s mind was reeling. What was going on here? Since when was Gray the one to make a situation more comfortable? That was supposed to be her job. And why was he not refuting them?
“Gray, you’re going to give them the wrong idea,” she murmured softly, even as she kicked him not so softly under the table.
“What idea is that?” he replied just as softly, giving her a private smile.
“That we’re…you know…a thing.”
He shrugged. “I can’t control what they think.”
“It’s true,” Ian said unapologetically. “We’ll make our own assumptions regardless of your excuses.”
Sophie hated that she was blushing, and Ashley gave her a sympathetic look before she stood and began gathering dishes. “Soph, would you mind grabbing that platter? We need more room on the table for dessert.”
“Absolutely!” Sophie said, shooting to her feet. She’d grabbed the plate and was in the kitchen before Ashley had stacked more than two plates.
“Sorry about that,” Ashley said, as she came into the kitchen. “The three of us have always been open with one another. It’s unfair to expect you to spill your guts when you’ve just met us.”
“It’s not that,” Sophie said, fiddling with a piece of paper towel. “I actually have chronic verbal diarrhea. Spilling my guts is kind of my thing. It’s just…I don’t know what Gray is after. And I can’t afford to be wrong, you know?”
“Yeah. I get it,” Ashley said, giving her a sympathetic glance.
Needing some space, Sophie threw the paper towel aside. “Is the bathroom down the hall?” she asked.
“Second door on the left.”
The hallway was covered in mismatched picture frames, most of them containing photos of a child whom she assumed to be Ryan. There had to be at least two dozen pictures of a darling blond boy from babyhood to Little League.
At the far end of the hall was Ian and Ashley’s wedding picture, and she couldn’t help but grin at their elated young faces. Her eyes fell on the best man and she did a double take.
Gray. The short dark haircut hadn’t changed a bit over the years, and he had the same fit, lean build. But the gray eyes were less guarded than the ones she saw on a daily basis. And younger Gray was actually smiling.