Page 31 of Smoke Show

Who was I kidding? Of course she knew. Which made it extra-weird that she was inviting me to Thanksgiving. Brady was old enough to ask me on his own if he wanted to. He didn't strike me as the kind of guy who'd leave an invitation to his mother.

"That's a very kind offer, Matty," I said, searching for an excuse.

It's not that I didn't want to go, it's that I wantedhimto invite me.

The realization shook me. Brady had slid under my skin, a little like that sliver in my palm. Would extraction hurt as much, or had I chosen the world’s worst analogy? Somehow, I doubted Brady would like the comparison. But he'd started as a thorn in my side. While my opinion of him had changed, I worried that he still held on to some of his starchy ideas about me. Given the choice, would he really introduce me to his mother? Welcome me into his childhood home for the holidays? It was too much pressure, too soon. Just like my feelings for him were too much, too soon.

"Izzy mentioned something last week. Let me check with her first. But thank you for the invitation. It's very kind of you to think of me," I said, not wanting the older woman to think I was throwing her offer back in her face.

It had been kind. And if she were anyone else’s mother, I would have accepted. As-is, I worried it came with ulterior motives.

Gwen appeared, and I latched onto her like a lifeline.

"Gwen, there you are. I'm dying for a cup of coffee, and I've got a lot of auction details to go over."

I scurried after her, eager to hide in the jungle she called a coffee nook, simultaneously thrilled and scared to examine my feelings too closely.

I wanted Brady Gleason.

Not a little bit. Not casually.

But in a happily-ever-after, I'll see you across the Thanksgiving table every year kind of way.

Silly me, I'd jumped once again feet first into potential disaster.

I could only hope that Brady would be there to catch me.

"Eve, you okay?" Gwen asked, brow wrinkled in concern as she poured me a cup of coffee.

Shaking away any introspective thoughts, I focused on her. Dressed in jeans and a Sprouts sweatshirt, she looked tired. Dark circles underlined her eyes.

"I'm fine," I reassured, accepting the cup. "Butyoulook like you've had a rough couple of days. Is everything okay with you?"

"Is that your way of saying I look like crap?"

Gwen's mouth quirked in a wry smile, and I shrugged.

"Maybe."

"Ouch," she winced, pouring herself a mug. "Way to spare my feelings."

"It's more important for friends to tell the truth. And I'm worried about you," I said pointedly. "Is there something going on I should know about?"

Gwen doctored her cup of coffee with cream, stirring with a focused expression that reinforced my concern.

"It's the auction," she finally said, taking a sip.

"I've got everything covered. The bachelors have all agreed, I just need to finalize their date packages. The caterer and band are booked. We've solicited donations from area businesses for the silent auction portion, and Izzy claimed ticket sales were going well at our last meeting. I think we're pretty much set."

"I'm not worried about your project management skills, Eve. You're scary good as an event coordinator."

"Then what is it?" I asked, not liking the lingering shadow in her expression.

"I promised you a trap for our saboteur, and I've got nothing," Gwen admitted.

"Who's to say that whoever was behind the issues we had this fall is going to try again?"

"My gut."

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