Page 3 of Silent Partner (Pine Falls 3)

It was part of the reason I’d asked Brant to keep our time together private. He was the epitome of wealthy and unattainable. Besides, I wanted to keep him to myself, as I knew it would be all I would ever have of him. And I didn’t want my family making a big deal out of it, because I was acutely aware that even if Brant had any feelings for me, his father would never approve of a relationship between us. I was merely a mortal—an orphan, barely making ends meet, and in debt up to my eyeballs after opening Two Girls and a Guy. It was best just to keep our friendship quiet.

“Stars Wars is iconic. It’s your duty as an American to watch it,” he said ever so seriously.

I giggled. “Well, I would hate to let my country down.”

He swallowed hard. “Would you like to go back to my place? I have the original trilogy queued up on my streaming service.”

He’d planned this? Don’t get your hopes up. I repeat, do not get your hopes up. Oh, and show some restraint. “I’d love to.” You showed zero restraint, Kinsley, I berated myself. I know. I’ll regret it later; let me enjoy myself.

“Great.” Brant ran a hand through that thick hair of his. “We can drive together, and I can bring you back here to get your car if you would like.”

“Yes.” I spoke too quickly, again showing no self-control at all. Even though I knew Grandma and Grandpa would notice we’d left together and wouldn’t be coming back until much later. Grandma was always trying to nudge me toward Brant, and I didn’t want her to make more out of it than it was. I would do that all on my own.

Brant rubbed his hands together before starting his truck. “Great.”

“Yes, great,” I replied nervously. I’d only ever been to his place once, when he’d thrown a work party for the law firm he was a partner at. He’d asked me to cater. I knew he had done it to throw more business my way. In fact, Brant ate at my restaurant more than anyone, even my family. He came in at least once a week to dine and ordered takeout almost every night. Often, he would write on his bill, Give my compliments to the chef. Even though I’m not the only chef, I always knew who the note was for. A few times he’d even asked for me to come out of the kitchen so he could personally thank me. It was kind of a running joke between us, except I found it more endearing than funny. I looked forward to those moments and his notes more than he would ever know.

Brant carefully pulled out of my grandparents’ gravel drive. It was part of the charm of their rustic place here in Pine Falls. They owned a few acres with two homes on the property—the A-frame house they lived in now and the pretty little white two-story down the lane that we’d all lived in growing up. Neither of the homes were fancy, but they were nicer than the tiny apartments and motel rooms I had lived in when I was younger.

My parents were dreamers and drifters, always going whichever way the wind blew. I had never realized, until I came to live with Grandma and Grandpa, what a luxury it was to stay in one place for longer than a few months at a time. My parents were not bad people at all. They were just too young and idealistic. A stable job and place to live wasn’t a high priority for them. But despite how poor we were, I knew I was loved. My dad could make anything into a game, even pots and crumpled-up newspaper balls. I remember he once set up several pots around one of our dingy apartments. We would take turns tossing the paper balls into them from different places. The trickier the spot, the more points you received. Dad always used to let me win. And my mom could make a meal out of anything. “Necessity breeds creativity,” she would say. And did we ever have needs.

Grandma and Grandpa changed that for me. Living with them meant having all my needs met and many of my wants. Honestly, I was so poor growing up that I didn’t even know what to want for after I’d come to live with them, when they adopted Dani and me. Even now, though, my life was a far cry from Brant’s. His family had the kind of wealth and prestige you read about in books and watched on movie screens. We’re talking private jets, properties around the world, and mingling with the powerful and famous.

I studied Brant while he drove, wondering why he always chose to spend Thanksgiving with us when he could be enjoying it with his parents in their beautiful home in Carrington Cove or at some tropical resort. I used to think it was because of Dani—I’m certain it began that way—but now I thought Brant had other reasons, almost as if he were holding on to something, not necessarily a someone.

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