Page 107 of Maybe You

“It won’t affect my job,” I say. “Whatever happens. I mean, I know this whole thing between me and Sutton happened after you made him, you know, help me, but that’s been a whole separate thing, and we were both completely professional and?—”

“After I made Sutton help you?” Quinn says.

“Well, yeah. As punishment for breaking in?”

Quinn stares at me for the longest time before he nods slowly. “Right. Sure. I did that.” He sends me yet another long look. “That’s what he told you?”

I don’t get to answer because that’s when the front door opens.

“The traveling pharmacy is in town,” Sutton calls out. I can hear his shoes thump against the floor, and then his footsteps. In another second, he steps into view. He doesn’t see us all at first, since he’s rummaging around in the paper bag he’s carrying.

“Aha!” he says victoriously, pulling out a small white spray bottle. He looks up, then. And stops in his tracks.

“Quinn and Steph stopped by,” I say. Pointlessly, because he can clearly see them.

Sutton steps closer and hands me the bag before he pulls out a chair and sits down next to me. Whatever initial surprise there was, he doesn’t seem to mind that they’re here while I’m here.

“What brings you two by?” he asks.

“Mom’s gala,” Quinn says. “You still haven’t RSVP’d.”

Sutton frowns. “I haven’t? I could’ve sworn I told her I’d be there.”

Quinn rolls his eyes. “You still need to let the party planner know.”

“Okay, well, be a doll and do that for me, then?” Sutton says.

“Or here’s a novel idea, do it yourself,” Quinn suggests.

“What if I forget again?” Sutton blinks innocently.

“Then enjoy your last few days on this earth, because Mom will kill you.”

“I don’t know,” Sutton says. “She keeps telling me I’m her favorite child. Murder seems unlikely.”

“She keeps telling all of us that we’re the favorite,” Quinn says. “So I wouldn’t put all my hopes on that if I were you, because obviously she has four other favorite children to compensate for losing you.”

At that, Sutton pulls out his phone and starts typing.

“Although,” he says while he’s at it, “I’m not biologically hers, so logic dictates that if she says I’m her favorite, she means it because she’s not obligated to love me, unlike with you lot.”

“You keep telling yourself that.” There’s a sardonic note in Quinn’s voice.

Steph has been rummaging around in the cabinets, and he comes back to the table with apple slices and a jar of peanut butter.

“Help yourself,” Sutton mutters distractedly.

“Already did.” Steph sends Sutton a toothy grin before he aims his gaze my way. “Do you have a tux?” he asks. “It’s one of those parties.” He makes a face.

The idea that I might own a tux, or even a suit, is absurd enough that it takes me a moment to realize the question was directed at me. I blink at him. “Me?”

He chomps down one of his apple slices before he shakes his head. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much. We have a similar build, so you can borrow one from me because, yes, I’m now the kind of person who owns multiple tuxedos. The things people put up with for love.”

“You’ll survive,” Quinn says drily.

“Yes, but at what cost?” Steph shakes his head sadly before he looks at me again.

This is awkward to the highest degree.

---