“Well, hell. Since when do they keep it there?” she complained.
Her hair was pulled on top of her head in a fiery knot. Loose strands escaped as if even her hair refused to be tamed. She was dressed casually in another pair of long tights and a cropped sweatshirt the color of fresh grass. It was loose-fitting, the hem flirting with the high waist of her pants. He knew he’d lose sleep that night thinking how easy it would be to slide a hand under it.
She reached out to take the dishes, her fingers brushing his, and he wished for things to go back to the way they’d been before. Before she’d come home. Before she’d walked into his arms. Before he’d seen the shadows.
Before he’d jerked himself off so violently he still felt the damn vibrations of it.
He should be letting go of the dishes. He should be taking several steps back. Not obsessing over the feel of her fingers against his.
Breaking out of his fugue, Brick took the dishes back. “Stop falling off shit,” he snapped.
“Stop telling me what to do.” Her gaze flicked to the doorway and back again. “And stop fighting with me. Everyone thinks we hate each other.”
“Don’t we?” He hadn’t meant it. Not really. He hated himself when it came to her. But he could never hate her.
Old Remi would have punched him in the shoulder and called him an asshole. But this new Remi was an entirely different creature. Watching the hurt bloom in those moss green eyes made him feel like a fucking asshole.
“Remi, wait—”
She shook her head and stepped out of his reach as he juggled the gravy boat. “I’m too tired for the hot-cold routine. Let’s leave it at cold and leave each other the hell alone.”
“What hot-cold routine?” he demanded, trying to keep his voice low. He knew exactly what she was talking about but didn’t want her running out of the room until they were back on an even keel.
“You know what I’m talking about, you monumental ass,” she hissed. “One second, you’re stocking my freezer with your cock hard enough to cut off the circulation to your lower body. The next, you’re telling me you hate me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lied.
“Fuck off, Brick.” She flipped him off on her way out of the room.
He swore under his breath and followed. It was going to be a painful night.
9
“What color is this song, Aunt Remi?” Hadley asked from across the table.
Remi shifted away from Brick yet again. Usually he sat as far away from her as possible. But since she was furious with him, the chances of her flirting with him were nil. She was still dangerous, but it was a safer kind of danger.
Remi cleared her throat as she looked up from the moat of mashed potatoes she’d been poking with her spoon. “It’s all bright yellows and oranges with little explosions of red,” she told her niece.
She didn’t sit in chairs like a normal adult. There was no straight-backed posture for Remi. She hugged one knee into her chest, her other foot swinging as if she couldn’t tolerate stillness for even one meal.
“So, Remi Honey,” Darlene said, changing the subject. “How long are you renting Red Gate?”
Remi didn’t look up from her plate. “Just a couple of weeks. Agnes doesn’t have a reservation until spring.”
“A couple of weeks?” Kimber’s eyebrows shot up. “That can’t be cheap even in the dead of winter. Where’d you come up with that kind of cash?”
Brick listened raptly as he hefted a fork of turkey to his mouth.
Remi shrugged. “Pretty sure she gave me a ‘practically family’ deal. I forgot how cute that place is on the inside. She had the kitchen redone a year or two ago with new cabinets and appliances. And between the furnace and the fireplace, it’s downright toasty.”
There was her trademark misdirection. Enthusiastic info dumps that dazzled the listener into forgetting what the original question was.
“Can we come see the cottage, Aunt Remi?” Hadley asked.
“You better come visit, or I’ll be deeply offended and not buy you any Christmas presents for two years,” she teased.
“How’s your asthma? Have you been taking your prescriptions?” Darlene asked.
Remi shifted in her chair. Her gaze stayed fixed on her plate. “It’s been good,” she said. “I thought I’d have more problems last spring with all the pollen and the air quality alerts. But I really didn’t.”
The lies that came out of this woman’s mouth.
Brick marveled at her ability to spin a tale without batting an eyelash. If he hadn’t seen the EMT’s report, even he might not have picked up on the lie. It had been a while since his Remington Bullshit Detector had a workout.
“That’s wonderful,” Gilbert said. “I’d always said you’d probably outgrow it.”
“Fingers crossed,” Remi said with a smile that wavered around the edges.
“Aunt Remi, how’d you hurt your arm?” Ian asked, eyeing her cast as he dropped a piece of turkey in his lap.
Without missing a beat, Kimber handed her son a napkin.
Remi wrinkled her nose. “I was in a very small car accident.”
“Like a Matchbox car?” Ian asked.
“Not that small. The accident was small. The car was normal-sized,” she assured her nephew.
“In your car?” Darlene asked.
Remi drove a Chevy Suburban, and Brick still wasn’t certain it was big enough to keep her safe.
She shook her head. “No. My friend was driving.”
The hand that reached for her drink was shaking. And all he wanted to do was pick her up, carry her out of the room, and interrogate her.
“A boy friend or a girl friend?” Hadley wanted to know. Brick’s grip tightened reflexively on the knife in his hand.
“Girl,” she said, managing a smile for her niece. But he watched as she curled in on herself even tighter.
Operating on instinct, he spread his legs wide enough that his left knee pressed against hers. Remi didn’t move away from the touch, and he wondered just what the hell that meant.
“Like girl friend or girlfriend?” Hadley pressed.
Remi choked on her Manhattan and managed a laugh. “Are you asking if I’m a lesbian?”
“Or bi.”
“Pansexual,” Ian added.
Kimber coughed into her napkin. “I let them watch Schitt’s Creek,” she admitted.
“Oh, I love that show,” Gilbert said, his enthusiasm heightened by his third Manhattan.
“So, are you?” Hadley asked.
Remi’s smile was genuine this time. “I seem to be straight. Just boys for me so far.”
“My friend Alicia? Her older sister Megan is bi,” Hadley announced.
“Uncle Brick, do you like boys or girls?” Ian asked as if he were conducting a prime-time interview.
Brick felt the harsh burn of an invisible spotlight. “I, uh. Girls?”
“You don’t sound very sure about that,” Kimber teased.
“Girls,” he said again, more forcefully.
“Mom and Grandma say it’s a shame you haven’t dated anyone since your divorce,” Hadley recited to the table.