Page 78 of Forsaken Oath

I pull out the skillet and smother my smile. “I didn’t even say anything.”

She laughs. “You don’t have to. It’s written all over the . . . everything about you.”

I chuckle along with her. “Yeah, yeah. Come over here and help Vivie make the batter.”

Margot sidles up next to Vivie at the counter, reaching for the measuring cups. “This isn’t over. I have about a thousand questions. But here are the main ones, so you can prepare your answers: Where were you last night? And was it Beau? How was the first race? Did you kick ass? Because I feel like you did. And more importantly, was it good?” She waggles her eyebrows suggestively.

I feel the heat creeping up my neck as I busy myself with greasing the skillet. “I was with Beau,” I admit, my voice soft but sure. “We went for a swim in his pool and looked at the stars.”

Margot’s eyes widen, a delighted grin splitting her face. “Eloise Hawthorne, you low-key romantic. And damn, who knew Beau Carter had it in him.”

A soft prickle itches the back of my neck. I know she doesn’t mean anything by it, but it doesn’t sit right. “You don’t even know him, Margot.”

“Oh, and I suppose you do,” she teases, elbowing me.

“Yeah,” I murmur. “Yeah, I’m starting to.”

“Good. He better deserve you, or he’ll answer to me,” she says, voice low and serious.

“You worry about those pancakes, and leave him to me.” I can handle Beau Carter just fine.

34

BEAU

Sunday dinnersat Ma and Dad’s are a constant—an anchor in the middle of my chaotic life. Rain or shine, we all show up. Well, most of us. Abby hasn’t made it to one in what feels like years, and part of me wonders if that’s why Ma started insisting on these dinners in the first place.

Growing up, we had dinner together as a family almost every night. But there was a time, after we’d all left the nest, when Ma seemed content to let Sunday dinners slide. Then Abby moved away, and suddenly Ma declared Sunday dinners were sacred.

Not that I mind. It’s a chance to catch up, eat great food, and sit with the people who know me best. Even if sometimes I wish they didn’t.

I jog up the walkway, the warm glow of sunset casting Ma’s flower beds in a golden light. Her irises sway lazily in the breeze, the colors vivid against the dark green leaves. The front door is unlocked, as always, so I let myself in, the smell of meatloaf and roasted garlic hitting me square in the chest.

“Hey, Ma!” I call, heading for the kitchen.

“Beau!” Her voice is warm and bright as she turns from the stove, her cornflower blue apron tied neatly around her waist.She pulls me into a tight hug, the familiar vanilla and lavender scent of her laundry detergent wrapping around me.

“Hey, Ma,” I say, chuckling. “Smells amazing in here.”

“You’re in a good mood,” she says, pulling back and patting my cheek. Her eyes narrow, scanning my face with practiced precision. “What’s got you grinning like that?”

“Just a good day, Ma,” I say, grabbing plates from the cabinet to avoid her digging deeper. “What’s for dinner?”

“Meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Your father’s favorite.” She turns back to the oven, fiddling with the light button. “I even tried adding that marshmallow fluff your sister used once in the sweet potatoes. We’ll see if it passes muster.”

“It’ll be great,” I say, stacking the plates in my hands.

“Yes, well, I thought I’d try something new. I’m not sure I can do half the things she does, but I’m trying,” she says, moving back to the stove. She bends down, looking inside without opening the oven door.

There’s something a little off about her tone, but I don’t especially feel like wading into whatever is going on between Cora and Ma tonight, not when I’m on a four-day Eloise high.

“I’m sure it’s gonna be delicious, Ma. Your food always is.”

“Hope so. Everyone’s in the living room watching some game,” she says, pushing to stand. “These need another two minutes to caramelize that spicy ketchup on top.”

“I’ll get them and get the table sorted.” I stack the rest of the plates and pull out the tall water glasses we’ve used since I was a kid.

She turns, her expression softening as she watches me. “What would I do without you, Beau?”

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