“Do you want to know about my business or about Boone and me?” I asked, circling my fork at my plate that had mostly gone untouched thanks to the Q & A firing squad. “Because I’d like to be able to take a bite of my breakfast sometime this morning.”
My mom’s eyes drifted to my half-eaten piece of toast. I knew that in her eyes, I’d already eaten enough to get me through lunch.
“Why don’t you just sum it all up for us, Clara Belle, since it seems there’s a whole lot of fuzzy area surrounding you, and we’ll throw in the clarifying questions if we have any,” Dad said.
Dad ignored Charlotte when she said something to him, no doubt trying to get his attention as she had for her entire life. What I’d come to expect was that the only thing that garnered our father’s attention when it came to his family was potential scandal and anything that might tarnish the supposed pristine Abbott name. Between the three of his children, I’d been the most “problematic,” and therefore received the most attention.
What Charlotte failed to realize in her jealousy was that there was a difference between good attention and bad attention.
“Well, the business’s sales have tripled over last year and are expected to—”
“How about you start your summary with why Boone Cavanaugh is sitting at my breakfast table beside my daughter, whose heart and innocence he crushed a lifetime ago.” Dad held his smile for the other guests nibbling at their breakfasts in silence, no doubt feeling like a bunch of third wheels. “That is what interests me most at the present moment. I’d like you to look me in the eyes and explain to me why that boy is the one you chose to bring as your date this week.”
“My plus one,” I corrected automatically.
Boone gave me a sideways look, like I’d somehow just betrayed him.
“Pray do tell, just how long have you and your ‘plus one’ been reacquainted? Because the last time you were able to squeeze us into your busy schedule and fly back home, I was under the impression you’d forgotten the name Boone Cavanaugh, and certainly the man behind that name.”
A couple of conversations were starting to circle the table, and I was thankful I didn’t feel the pressure of two dozen sets of eyes aimed my way anymore. It made thinking on the fly much easier.
“I don’t know. It’s difficult to say, exactly, when we got reacquainted . . .” I fumbled for the right words to cut and paste together an airtight lie. “I guess we just sort of started talking a while ago, emails here and there, sporadic phone calls, that sort of thing . . . and you could say one thing led to another led to us sitting next to each other at your breakfast table this morning.” When I finished massacring that explanation, I picked up the other half of my toast and stuffed it into my mouth to shut myself up.
Dad’s forehead was creased with lines of confusion, as were Ford’s, Charlotte’s, and Mom’s. Even Boone’s forehead was creased, although his expression was less confused and more what the hell? I gave a just-detectable shrug, and he stabbed a chunk of ham and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing on it like he had a serious beef with his pork.
“So are you two just friends? Or is there more to it?” Dad pressed. “Because your mother tells me you two shared the same room last night, so that tells me there’s something.”
And how about that breakfast?
I felt like I was slowly slumping into my chair, one pointed question at a time. In a few more, I’d be falling out of it, and somehow, that sounded like the most appealing option.
“I think that’s difficult for either Boone or me to answer,” I said once I’d finished my toast. “So maybe we could move on to discussing something more exciting . . . like the big wedding coming up.” When I threw my hands in Charlotte and Ford’s direction, I got nothing more than a glare and a hair swish from my sister.
“Please, darling,” Boone’s voice filled the room, sounding a bit more game-show-host than backwoods-Southern-boy. This wouldn’t be good; the darling part gave that away. I slumped deeper into my chair. “You don’t have to go and understate what we have just because few people ever get to experience the connection you and I have.”
I tipped my head at him and forced a smile that was anything but benign. “What are you talking about Boone?” I added under my breath, “Why are you talking?”
He aimed a wink at me. “If you’re going to keep on with this modest approach, let me take over and explain how it really is between us.”
“Please don’t,” I muttered through clenched teeth, ramming my knee into his beneath the table.
He patted my leg a few times in return. “A few of you at the table know that Clara broke my heart when we were kids. Broke might be an understatement, but you get the idea. She crushed me.”
Ford exhaled sharply, shaking his head. My dad was doing the same thing.