Page 20 of Stuck With the Billionaire Grump

I turn at the sound of the familiar voice, arms still laden with Cool Whip, and find Eric Kendall grinning at me. He looks dapper in a blue button-down, linen trousers, and boat shoes. In fact, he’d probably fit in better with the wealthy tourist crowd than with the majority of the people at this backyard barbecue, but he pulls it off nicely enough. He looks handsome, really.

Even so, I weirdly feel zero attraction to him.

“No, it’s okay, Eric,” I assure him. “Go enjoy the party.”

“Nonsense,” he protests, leaning forward to take the tubs out of my arms and carry them the remaining ten feet to the table. Mabel shoots him a sideways glance, then raises her eyebrows at me, but I just shake my head before turning my attention back to him.

“Are you having a nice time?” I ask him.

He nods emphatically. “Oh, yeah! Best barbecue I’ve ever been to, honestly. It’s a cool replacement for a rehearsal dinner. Was that your idea?”

“Oh, um, not really. Josie and Elijah wanted something more low-key.”

“Saving all the pomp and parading for the big day, right? I heard the manor the ceremony is at is insanely fancy.”

“It’s very elegant, yeah. I suppose this and the party at the bar last night balances it all out.”

Eric nods again, as if I’ve said something extremely intelligent. I’m really starting to wonder if he’s just laying it on thick to flatter me.

“That’s genius,” he replies. “I had a great time last night, though it would’ve been even better if I got the chance to talk to you for longer than a minute or so.”

I force out a laugh, which is not something I often have to do. “Yes, well… Maidzilla duties.”

“Maidzilla?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” I glance around, subtly seeking an escape route. It’s not that I don’t like talking to Eric. It’s just that he’s a little too enthusiastic about trapping me into a lengthy conversation, and I really have too many things to take care of to let myself get distracted by meaningless flirtations.

As if she can read my mind, Mabel taps me on the shoulder. “Lucy? Carol said something about needing more ice for the punch.”

“I’m on it,” I assure her.

“I can get it,” Eric offers automatically.

“No,” I tell him, holding out a hand to stop him from taking another step toward the house. “Really. I’ve got it. Don’t worry about it.”

When it looks like Eric is going to insist, Mabel steps in yet again.

“Hey, you’re new around here, aren’t you?” she interjects, sidling up close to him. I watch in real time and try to stifle a laugh as Eric takes in the full effect of Mabel’s undeniable beauty and blinks in surprise. “Come with me. I’ll introduce you to some of the locals. You absolutelyhaveto meet Joshie and Roy.”

I swear, I could kiss the ground that Mabel Lee walks on. As soon as she expertly steers Eric away, I turn and dash toward the house. The ice is being kept in the large industrial freezer that Uncle Joe installed in the basement. Once upon a time, that freezer used to be full of all sorts of treats for us kids, since Josie and I often had friends over here after school. Now, it’s finally being put back to good use.

There’s a huge crowd of people loitering near the sliding glass door on the deck, so I bypass them by slipping around the side of the house and using the door that leads directly down to thebasement. I prop it open with a rock and then descend into the cool darkness.

As the wooden steps creak underfoot, I let out a long sigh of relief. Oddly enough, I’m a little grateful for this small moment by myself. As an extrovert, I really do love being around people, but sometimes it’s nice to step away for a minute to clear my head.

Using my phone as a flashlight, I hop down onto the cement floor and hum to myself as I make my way over to the freezer.

***

[Twelve Years Ago]

“Yesterday in our group session, we were talking about the importance of having healthy mindsets,” says Dr. Sans, his wrinkled hands folded calmly on his lap. “Does anyone want to share any thoughts about that after we’ve let those discussions marinate overnight?”

I stifle a giggle. That’s one of Dr. Sans’ favorite words:marinate. He likes it when wesit withour feelings, like all my emotions are a big bowl of soup broth and I’m the meat and potatoes.

Still, I raise my hand. I like group therapy. Even though I usually like to avoid talking about my feelings, it’s easier to do so here at Camp Hannefort. Probably because everyone else is in the same boat as I am, more or less.

Dr. Sans nods at me. “Yes, Lucy?”

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