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His hand closes over mine, and I slowly lift my eyes to meet his gaze. I should pull back, but there’s something about Tyler’s touch that’s so comforting. A sudden breeze drifts between us, causing leaves toflutter together. The moment feels charged, but I don’t know why. Is it the warmth of Tyler’s hand? Or is it the wind? A gentle breeze does have a way of turning dramatic moments into something ridiculously romantic. In this very moment, I canpicture Tyler leaning in for a kiss as the next current wisps my hair back. The sound of the leaves rustling together would intensify in the swell as our lips picked up—
“There you are.” The back door slams shut, and I jump back. Nigel looks between the two of us, and I’m sure my wind-chargedthoughts are written across my face.
I scramble to my feet, making a beeline to the house. “I needed some air, and then Tyler wanted to see the backyard, but it’s getting too windy. Is everyone ready to play games?” I hope talking fast diverts his attention away from Tyler and me and the very illegal hand-holding that just happened.
Hand-holding? I wouldn’t call it that. It was a handcover. So innocent—something an eighty-year-old would offer the cashier at the grocery store while saying “bless your heart.”
Nigel looks back one more time before I drag him into the house, leaving Tyler behind,along with whatever that charged feeling was.
* * *
Tessa plops downon the loveseat in the family room and smiles up at Tyler. “Will you be my partner for the games?”
Theloveseat? Really?
“Sure.” Tyler sits next to her, and I’m wishing that the two of them were sitting inseparate recliners with a good twelve inches between them.
I lean forward, breaking into their conversation. “We usually play boys against girls for the games, so you actually won’t be able to be on the same team.” My face is full of fake pity.
“That’s a shame,” Tyler says, and the laughter in his eyes bugs me.
Then Tessa loops her arm through his, and now I’m really irritated. I look away, but that doesn’t help, because my dad is currently sitting across from me, holding Anna Mae’s hand.
This is a nightmare.
Everyone needs to keep their hands to themselves. Including Tyler, if we’re counting the innocent hand cover. It’s not that hard. I haven’t touched Nigel once.
I jump up from my seat and head to a nearby closet. I know the perfect game for this little group of couples—something where you need your arms and hands to act out. Ishuffle through the games on the shelves, tossing them around, looking for Charades.
“Do you need some help?” Tyler asks.
My body stiffens. He’s standing behind me. I feel the brush of his chest against my shoulder and the heat of his body on my back.
“Nope, but that’s kind of you to unlock yourself from Tessa for a moment,” I whisper. “I’m sure you’re dying to get back to her side.”
“Are you jealous?” His voice is low so only I can hear. “It kind of seems like you’re jealous.”
My mouth opens wide, and I look over my shoulder at him. “She’s my sister.”
“You can still be jealous of your sister.”
The idea is ridiculous. “I’m not jealous. But since we’re talking about her, you realize she’s entirely too young for you, right?”
Tyler looks across the room at her. “Is she? I hadn’t noticed.”
I turn back to the game closet, letting out a rough laugh. “Twenty-three. She’s twenty-three years old.” I pick up another game and throw it on a new shelf, as if rearranging the boxes will somehow help me find Charades. “That’s ten years younger than you—in case you can’t do math.”
“Oh, I can do math. For example, you’ve said about thirteen words to Nigel tonight. That’s a lot less than what you’ve said to me.”
I turn over my shoulder and glare at him.
“Meg? What are you doing?” Brooke asks.
“I’m looking for Charades,” I snap at her.
“We’re going to play Pictionary. I’ve already got it out.”
“Oh.” Pictionary uses hands. That might work just as well.
