Page 31 of Infinite

“What about dinner? Did she say anything about pot roast?”

“Yes, Sean. She’s bringing pot roast.”

“With dem little potatoes?” He holds out his long leg to keep the heavy door open, allowing me through with the large suitcase. “She knows I like dem little potatoes, right?”

“She does,” Becca adds sweetly. “Miss Silvie is also bringing that scalloped corn you can’t get enough of. While I don’t know what kind of pie she’s making, she promised to bring one just for you.”

“See?” Sean says. “It’s like I always tell Mr. Owen. If he dies, I’m taking his woman.”

Mason holds out his hand. “I’m going to stop you right there,” he tells him.

“What?” Sean asks, all confused like. “If I were Owen, I’d want to know my wife was well taken care of. As well as my kids. Besides, Trin and Landon would like a daddy like me.”

“Sean, you’re talking about sleeping with Trin’s Momma,” Mason points out.

“I guess,” Sean replies as if Mason was asking him a question instead pointing out a fact. “But I was mostly talking about eating her food.” He thinks about it. “But if I had to sleep with her, I think I could do it. Hey, do you think she’s flexible and has all her working parts?”

Mason and I groan, pleading with him to stop.

Becca grins, speaking through her teeth. “Sean, precious, don’t make us shoot you between the eyes.” She releases the small carry-on she’s pulling and motions around. She probably thinks Sean will forget all about marrying Miss Sylvie in another minute, just like the last time he ate her food, and the time before that. She’s probably right. Still, no one needs to hear that shit.

“So?” Becca says. “What do y’all think?”

Aside from an office to our right when we first enter and what appears to be a guest suite to my left, the entire first floor is one open room. A tiled modern fireplace sits at the center, surrounded with circular and plush chairs. It’s meant to give the space a cozy feel, and it does just that.

The kitchen carries that modern cozy feel as well. The backsplash is marble subway tile, matching the sleek quartz countertop and blending in with the dark wood cabinets and wide plank floors. A dining area runs parallel to the kitchen. The rest is a family room, the large floor-to-ceiling windows opening onto a stone terrace providing a breath-taking view of the ocean.

This isn’t a house. It’s a home, where family and friends gather to laugh and create memories. Exactly what I need.

“Trin’s been watching reruns ofFixer Upperagain,” I guess. “Hasn’t she?”

“Oh, you know she loves Chip and Jo,” Becca gushes. She smiles softly. “Do you love it, Hale? Trin really wants you to love it.”

I chuckle. “How can I not? It’s a part of Trin.”

I catch myself lifting an arm to put around Becca. If she wasn’t fumbling through her purse to pull out her phone, she might have seen me. The hell? Wasn’t I just saying things can’t be this easy?

Mason tosses me a look. I try and pretend I don’t know what that look means. “What are you doing?” he mouths, making it clear he knows where I was headed.

He’s right. What am I doing? Look at me going full-speed ahead. Is that all it takes? Being back here with Becca to erase all the heartbreak between us?

Becca steps away from me, taking yet another call. “Becca Shields . . . What? . . . Oh, Amy, you are a Godsend,” she says, the excitement practically causing her to jump in place. “You have the address where I’ll be? . . . Wonderful. Thanks, baby.”

She disconnects, beaming. “Operation Reputation is under way.” She pats my arm. “We’ll start first thing tomorrow morning,” she adds proudly. She walks around, counting off on her fingers. “This is a good place for the photo shoot.” She glances over her shoulder at me. “Are all your clothes designer?”

“Yeah,” I say, still stuck on the photo shoot.

“We’ll have to fix that,” she says, like I’m somehow broken.

I hold up my palms. “Wait a second. Why are we doing a photo shoot to begin with? I want to stay out of the public eye, not remind everyone I’m here and under fire.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. The article will be in Forbes—”

“Forbes?” I say. “Are you kidding me? The last time I was in Forbes was—”

“Just a few months ago, for their end of year issue spotlighting the biggest money-maker on Wall Street. Before that, it was last February. The same issue where you took over the center spread in the Alps, if I recall. You were celebrating, what? Oh, yes, the previous end-of-year-issue when you first made the cover all by your lonesome. Six months prior to that, for their November issue—”

“You’ve done the research. I get it. But you’re forgetting, all those times celebrated me, my achievements, and the legacy I was building,beforeeverything came crashing down.”

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