Page 47 of Takes Two to Tango

"Hey, you gonna eat those, Mom?" Henry leaned over and pulled a cold onion ring from the basket and popped it in his mouth. "What's wrong with you guys? Why are y'all yelling at each other?"

Brent closed his mouth. A furrow cropped up between his normally amiable blue eyes.

Rayne clued in to where they were. Clued in to the fact that every person at the surrounding tables, with the exception of the two-year-old Taylor kid, was eavesdropping on their conversation. And why wouldn't they? She and Brent had raised their voices to a near yell.

"Nothing," Rayne muttered, shoving the basket toward her son. He grinned and happily dove into the artery-clogging rings. "Just a difference of opinion."

"Oh," Henry said, with his mouth full.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," she said.

"Okay," Henry said with his mouth still full.

It made her smile. Or maybe it was the panicky loss of control over the situation. She felt unsettled, out of control. She hadn't felt this way in so long. Not since she'd left Oak Stand, not since she'd left Brent waiting for her in his backyard. She hadn't said goodbye. She'd simply climbed into Aunt Frances's old Crown Victoria and shut the door on her old life.

But she'd also taken control of her life. Took her GED. Applied to college. Then culinary school. Then went to work. She'd not wandered aimlessly anymore. Wouldn't allow herself to be left hanging out in the wind, undecided about whatdirection she might blow next. Rayne had set her path and stayed on it.

Until Phillip died.

Because that hadn't been in her plans. And months afterward, things had unraveled. Her career had sky rocketed yet she had no one to help her, to guide her, to celebrate with her. Then Henry had started clinging to her and she'd stopped sleeping.

She'd come to Oak Stand to gather her wits, reassess, and form a new plan for her and Henry. Brent would muddy it with his "Let's not make a plan. Let's not put labels on things." It would be beyond stupid to even consider such a prospect.

She took a deep breath and met Brent's gaze. Undecipherable.

Okay. What good had this conversation been? She didn't know where she stood with Brent. What he wanted. What she wanted. None of it made sense.

She was once again where she'd started. Confused.

No, strike that. Even more confused.

Henry's brown eyes swung from her to Brent. "What's wrong? Are y'all mad at me?"

Brent shook his head. "No, sport, why would we be mad at you?"

"Cause I didn't eat with y'all?"

Rayne curled a hand around her son's waist and tugged him to her. "You know we're not mad at you for not eating with us. I'm glad you're making new friends. That's good."

"'Cept I'm not going to stay here, so it doesn't matter. They're not real friends."

Rayne couldn't prevent the emotion rising in her throat. "That's not true. We make friends along the way wherever we go. Having friends is a good thing. No matter what."

"No matter what,” Brent echoed as his eyes met hers.

She nodded over Henry's head. At the very least, she knew she and Brent were friends. It was as good a starting-out place as one could get.

"Friends?" she asked.

"Until you decide you want more."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

RAYNE WATCHED THE BERRIESburst under the intense heat. It was a bit early for blueberries at the farmers' market, but she'd found the ones she stirred in the saucepan in her aunt's freezer. In Aunt Frances’ neat handwriting, the label said Hartner Hills which Rayne knew was in Avinger. She'd picked blueberries there when she was a girl. Her aunt must have gone with friends last summer. They'd been frozen for a while, but would serve the purpose.

She grated a hint of nutmeg into the compote and added a pinch of orange zest.

The kitchen was quiet except for the tapping of the occasional bug against the window screen. Rayne reveled in the silence, allowing it to wring out the tension in her shoulders.

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