Page 87 of The Dating Contract

“Let’s just say,” said a familiar voice, “that the last party I threw didn’t have Pictionary, and not for another reason.”

Jamie. “Hiii,” Leah said. “This is gorgeous.”

Jamie beamed. “Thank you. Didn’t expect to see you here, but I am very glad to see a familiar face.”

“I have to say that when my sister-in-law,” Leah said gesturing at Shayna, “suggested I come tonight; the fact that it was your collection was an incentive.”

“Yep.” Shayna grinned. “My daughter’s on the team, so Leah’s here as a proud auntie.”

“Oh that’s great.” Jamie looked between them, and Leah figured that there was going to be an invitation issued, probably to talk about Samuel.

“Are you going to have time to catch up in a bit? I want to know what’s going on with Samuel.”

Just as predicted, Leah thought to herself. But all the same, Shayna snorted. “Don’t we all.”

“I may need some help,” Leah said.

Jamie raised an eyebrow. “Oh really.”

And then she paused, making Leah wonder if something else was going on.

“Looking for something in particular in the meanwhile?”

Leah sighed. “I want to give someone something that will make this person understand that I don’t make decisions lightly, that I’ve always…had feelings, that I’m not going to change.”

She looked in between Jamie and Shayna only to realize from their surprised and thoughtful expressions that she’d either said too much, made the wrong decision or both. “Um,” she managed. “Never mind. It’s fine…”

“So,” Jamie said, breaking the silence and most likely going to barge past the tape she’d put on the door she’d opened. “You can always buy something new—I’ve got a few interesting pen-themed things, for example, but the biggest thing you can do is show him, whoever he may be, that you have been paying attention. Something older that might symbolize the fact that despite everything, all the water under the bridge between the both of you, your feelings have never changed.”

And as they walked through the showing, Leah realized there was something. She bought a pair of pen cufflinks and a pen tie tack, knowing all too well that the item she needed most was at her apartment, and she’d need help bringing it back to Briarwood.

Chapter Twenty-Six

It was agorgeous Friday afternoon. The sun was shining, and Aaron’s car was speeding up the highway, precious cargo in the trunk. The babka was on Samuel’s lap and life was good.

So was the conversation. Tommy was talking about something happening with one of the baseball teams he followed, and Aaron was asking about a documentary that Tommy had watched.

Very familiar, very comfortable.

Except there was something that Samuel needed to do. If he had a chance of making it out the door in time to catch dessert at the Nachmans’, Samuel had to inform his brother about what was going on, and maybe enlist his help in getting out the door.

Which wouldn’t be possible if either his brother or his brother-in-law stood in his way.

“So,” Samuel said as Aaron drove up the highway toward Briarwood, “I’m going to leave before dinner’s over, take care of some business at the Nachmans’.”

There was silence in the car, and Samuel could see his brother do his best to glare in the rearview mirror. “You’re doing what?”

“Watch the road,” Tommy interjected, thankfully. “Stop glaring at your brother.”

Yep. As far as Samuel was concerned, there were, in fact, benefits to delivering this information in the car where Aaron was driving and Tommy was sitting in the passenger seat.

And yet he still had the question to answer. Or rather the information to deliver once again. “I’m going to Nathan and Shayna Nachman’s place tonight after dinner, hopefully to catch dessert.”

There was a long pause before Aaron answered. “I’m not sure whether I’m more offended by you leaving us with Mom and Dad or you taking the babka.”

“The babka,” said Tommy, sure of himself and his husband, and of course most likely correct. “Because you don’t know what’s going on and whether you think they deserve the babka.”

“Right you are,” Aaron replied as Samuel added an internal tick mark to the score he was keeping. “Okay then. So?”

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