Page 104 of The ABCs of You & Me

“Hardly,” he says, dropping a kiss on my forehead instead of acknowledging his uncle.

“Foster! Sophie!” I look toward the living room just in time to see Foster’s dad walk through the doorway with his arms spread, a red tinge already dotting his cheeks.

“Dad’s been celebrating since about nine a.m.,” Cass stage-whispers next to me.

“Hey, you only get to celebrate sixty once,” he slurs, pulling Foster in for a hug.

“Happy birthday, Dad,” Foster says once he steps back.

“Glad you could make the trip up to celebrate your old man. I know how much you hate spending time with that jackass.” He laughs, pointing at Foster’s uncle.

Foster laughs uncomfortably and avoids looking to where his dad is pointing. “Just happy to celebrate you, Dad,” he says as he steps around him and leads me to the dining room where a buffet is set up.

“Sophie!” Mrs. Walsh sounds surprised when she sees me, but at least she looks pleased. “It’s so nice to see you again.” She hugs Foster then me. “Wasn’t it so nice of Bennett to let us use his place? Have you seen the tent? Your sister and that quiet little friend of hers did an amazing job. The flowers, I mean, those are completely lost on your father, but they’re stunning. If this whole dog thing doesn’t work out, I could see her getting into the flower business.”

“We arrived and came right in,” Foster explains, reaching for two plates and handing one to me. “We’ll grab some food and head out.”

“Good,” Mrs. Walsh says, squeezing his arm as she passes. “Marcus, you better not have put any of that heavy metal stuff on the playlist,” she calls as she walks from the room.

“What quiet one is she talking about?” I ask while I scoop various salads onto my plate.

Foster shakes his head. “I have no idea.”

“Cass would have mentioned it if she was dating someone, right?” Have I been a terrible friend? Maybe I’ve been too self-centered lately and she hasn’t felt comfortable talking to me? She’d always maintained that she had no interest in a relationship with anyone.

“You’re not a bad friend.” Foster’s warm breath brushes my ear.

“How do you know that’s what I’m thinking?”

“Because I know you,” he says, straightening up and plopping potato salad next to four giant shrimp and then setting the plate down, turning to me. He grips my chin in his hand and gently eases my head up so I have to look at him. “There is nothing bad about you, sunshine.” His amber eyes search mine. “Got it?” I nod, so lost in his gaze that I don’t notice that anyone else has entered the room.

“Private moment alert!” someone taunts.

Foster drops his hand, and I miss it immediately. Every second he hasn’t been touching me since I left his place this morning has felt empty. I hate it.

We find my parents in the tent chatting with Foster’s grandmother, and I feel him relax when she looks up and waves at him.

“Oh good, you finally made it.” She swats him away when he leans down, opting to stand and hug him, practically disappearing as he wraps his long arms around her. “Has he made the tea ring for you yet?” she asks, pulling me in for a tight hug of my own.

“He has not,” I say accusingly, glaring up at him.

He holds his hands up. “I haven’t had a chance yet, but I will soon, I promise.”

“What tea ring?” my mom asks, hugging me tightly before moving on to Foster.

“It’s this…” I try to come up with a description but can’t think of what it would be like. “I don’t know, pastry?” I look at Foster and his grandmother for help.

“It’s a yeasted pastry stuffed with spices, brown sugar, and pecans,” his grandmother says.

“Sounds delicious,” my dad says, releasing Foster from a hug. “Please include us when you make it. Hello, my favorite daughter,” he murmurs, pulling me in.

“Still waiting to meet the least favorite one,” I joke.

“And you never will.” He laughs, releasing me and returning to his seat. “Go get some of that delicious barbecue and come back and join us. Cass and Florence should be back soon.”

“Is Florence the ‘quiet little one’?” Foster asks, looking around, easily seeing over the heads of all the other guests.

“She’s pretty quiet, not so little. She’s twenty-one,” my mom says.

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