Page 77 of Any Luck at All

He settled into the far chair, next to an empty patch of table, and set down his plate. Aunt Dottie took the chair opposite him.

“I wouldneverdo that,” she said as if mortally offended. “I’m just helping her so she doesn’t need to worry about all of the nitpicky details. I want Georgie to be able to spend her time on more important things.”

He nearly choked on a bite of mac and cheese.

“I think she very much wants to spend her time approving those details. In case you’ve forgotten, you nearly burned down her house.”

Aunt Dottie waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, I think we’re well beyond that.”

“It happened a week and a half ago.”

“Nearly two weeks, dear. And although I love our Georgie girl, I think she needs to let herself have more fun.” She paused, tilting her head a little as if he were a work of art she were studying. “Something happened to you today.”

“It’s almost like you’re psychic,” he said, the corner of his mouth ticking up.

Another hand wave. “You know what I mean. Somethingearth-shatteringhappened to you.”

He set down his fork with a clatter, feeling a quake inside of him. “I guess I came here to talk to you about that. I’m not sure I would have come if I’d known you had company—”

“How about a balloon-popping contest?” someone asked loudly, to which Josie replied, “How about bubbles? I’ve gotten pretty good with those.”

He was going to have to tell Georgie about this, wasn’t he? It was what afriendwould do.

A friend. Those words had poured salt into his wounds, especially after that hug. Not that he would have dreamed of turning her away.

Aunt Dottie got up and closed the door, then rummaged through one of the cabinets for something before joining him at the table.

“I can tell it’s time to give this to you,” she said, handing him a black, leatherbound case across the table.

He flipped it open and sucked in a breath. It was Beau’s watch, gleaming brightly back at him.

“I didn’t know you had it,” he said. “I was going to grab it at Beau’s house a couple of weeks ago, but I guess I got distracted.”

“I guess you did,” she said, staring at him in that way of hers, making him feel as transparent as plastic wrap. It could be slightly infuriating, being known by someone. Being seen by them. “I told Georgie I wanted to be the one to give it to you.”

He perked up a little at that. They’d arranged this?

“You know,” she said slowly, “Beau would have given you his house if I weren’t already giving you mine.”

“I don’t want to—”

Think about you dying.Because it sent a sort of panic through him, even as he felt a comforting glow at the notion that Beau had thought enough of him to consider it. He was glad Georgie had the house instead—and maybe a little annoyed that her brothers and sister were on the title too—because as difficult as all of this was, he still wanted her here. Still wanted her close.

She smiled softly at him. “Beau gave you this watch for a reason, River. Not many people know this, but he wasn’t the biological son of Prescott Senior. His mother was pregnant with him when they met, and they married quickly. But Prescott never treated him as any less of a son for it. The split between Beau and his son was painful for him, but when you came to live with me, he felt like he had another chance to be the kind of man his father had been.”

River’s hand tightened around the box, his throat feeling clogged with emotion. He hadn’t known any of that. And he had a feeling the Buchanans didn’t know either. Prescott would probably have an existential crisis if he found out. Part of him wished Beau had sat him down to talk about this, but the most Beau thing of all was to arrange for Aunt Dottie to convey the message instead. Well, he’d come here for some sort of grounding, and he’d gotten it. It would have to do.

“Thank you, Aunt Dottie. It’s big of you to say so.” He pushed his plate back, no longer feeling so hungry.

“What happened today?” she asked.

And here he’d thought he might be able to get away without talking about it.

“I went to see Beau”—he could see her practically glowing as he said it, thinking about things like kismet, him going to the grave, her knowing to give him the watch, but he kept on talking—“and Georgie showed up while I was there.”

“Beau sent her,” Aunt Dottie said, repeating his errant thought as if it were an absolute, ironclad fact.

“Well, if he did, he enjoys messing with my head,” he snapped. “She pushed me away again. She’s not going to change her mind. It’s time for me to just accept that.”

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