She managed a wave back, but it was a short one before she grabbed her glass of ice water and lifted it to her temple. When I took a look at the rest of the half dozen tables dotted around my parents’ backyard, it looked like a good portion of the breakfasters were in the same shape as Avalee. I was glad I’d stuck with Sprite and grenadine.
“Enough about mine, I want to know about your business,” I said as we headed for the tables laid out with most of my favorite breakfast foods, starting with sticky buns and ending with a chocolate fountain. “I’m clearly the underachiever between the two of us when you consider I set out to save the polar bears while your goal was to save the children of the world.”
Boone handed me a plate when we made it to the start of the buffet. From a couple of tables back, I spotted my parents from the corners of my eyes. They looked like they were in the middle of one of those spoken-under-their-breaths, frozen-expression type of arguments. Probably having something to do with Boone and me.
“Yeah, but unlike mine, your business is still in business and doing so well you’re expanding. Mine barely managed to stay in business for two years, and during those years, there was never a month where it did well bottom-line wise.” Boone waved me in front of him to go first.
“Why a kids’ center?” I asked as I went straight for the trays of pastries. I’d eaten more than my fair share of cage-free poached eggs with arugula for breakfast back in California. “I mean, I know you’re a good guy and all and want to do your part to save the world without anyone knowing you give a damn about it”—I shot him a knowing look as I slid a sticky bun onto his plate, then one onto mine—“but I could have seen you opening at least fifty different kinds of businesses before I would have guessed a kids’ center.”
Boone paused in the middle of the buffet line, staring at the fruit salad with a look that redefined pensive. “When you grow up seeing what happens to kids like my sister, and what could have happened to me, all because we drew the short straw in life and wound up with a negligent mom and a TBD dad, you see things a bit differently. I guess I wanted a place where the Wren Cavanaughs of the world could find refuge. Even if it was only for a few hours at a time.” He stopped staring at the fruit salad and turned to me, an entire ocean of emotion churning on his face. “You know?”
I moved closer to him and pressed a hand into his chest. I hadn’t meant to touch him and I hadn’t meant to touch him right where his heart resided, but I had. It had been an instinctive reaction.
“I know,” I replied with a small smile, curling my fingers into his chest. I should have dropped my hand and walked away. I couldn’t do either.
Boone was doing a better job of playing things off than I was, but I could tell he was rattled by the way he couldn’t seem to look me in the eyes. “Just look at us. A couple of entrepreneurs. Who would believe it?” He scooped a heap of fruit salad onto his plate, which made it even more apparent just how ruffled he was. Boone had never been a fruit fan—something about it being too sweet for his tastes. “At least who would have believed it from me? I was unofficially voted least likely to succeed back in high school.”
I laughed as we wound down the tables, eyeing the tray of petit fours at the end, when someone came up behind us.
“It wasn’t unofficial. We actually held a vote.” Ford’s Kennedy smile was painted in place this morning. The rest of him from the neck down looked just as polished.
I counted to three in my head, reminding myself Ford and I had made some progress last night in the moving-on department. He was going to be my brother-in-law in a few days, and it would be nice to start out on the right foot. “Well, I guess you and your band of merry men were wrong about Boone, because look at him now.” I waved the silver petit four tongs at Boone, peaking an eyebrow. “A business owner.”
Ford meandered closer, clutching an empty plate. Clearly he hadn’t jumped in line for the food. “His business went out of business. Therefore I’d say his ‘unofficial’ title is pretty damn poetic.”
“Ford,” I snapped, my grip tightening around the tongs like it was his neck.
“It’s okay, Clara. He isn’t dishing out anything I haven’t been dished before,” Boone said before turning toward Ford. “In fact, I kind of missed all that attention you gave me back in high school. I was starting to wonder if you’d moved past your fascination with me, but clearly”—he circled his finger at Ford’s face, which was pinched together into folds of contempt—“you haven’t.”
Boone turned his back on Ford and let me pile a few petit fours on his plate. If fruit was too sweet for him, he would probably hate those, but he didn’t say no. When Ford ambled up behind us again, with an expression that told me he was only getting started, I couldn’t steer Boone away to one of the empty tables on the perimeter fast enough.