Page 32 of Upshot

“Yeah. Peter is so patient, explaining the differences between Craftsman-style and Victorian. I think I’ll enroll in an art course after the baby is born. Then maybe something on architecture. Geneva has been nice too.”

“My Geneva? The one with laser beams for eyes?”

“Be nice.” I laugh. “She was so much fun last night. She and Eliot hit it off almost immediately. Same warped, scary sense of humor, I think.”

“I can see that. I don’t know Eliot well, but the little interaction I’ve had with her, she’s a little like Geneva. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t get under my skin.”

He changes to my right foot. I swear this might be better than sex. At least as good. A moan slips out, and Rand squeezes my foot a little too hard.

“This is going to be a lovely home.” I can already see him spending long evenings curled up in front of the fire. The question is, can I see myself here? I have a vision of Rand and me snuggled on the couch while our little one plays on the floor. It’s beautiful. But is it reality?

“Do you think?” he asks.

“I do. Truly. I think you are going to be the envy of everyone in town.” He smiles. The house isn’t the only thing that’s lovely. I should probably go before I lose my mind completely and make plans to move in. “I should go.”

“Okay.” He stands and helps me off the couch.

“Say good night for me.” He walks me to the door. “Thank you for today.” Quickly, I place a simple kiss on his cheek. He blushes. “Good night, Rand.”

“Good night, Brontë.”

twelve

RAND

Sometimes I question my best friend’s motives. Okay, all the time. He knows I’ve never been that great around women. He also knows I have a lot at stake with the one I’m currently driving over to pick up.

Yet, he still insisted I take her to Austin to shop for books on historical architecture. Something that could easily have been ordered online. But here I am, planning on spending the day with the one woman I have the most important and tenuous relationship with in this world. No pressure.

“Hi.” She’s already waiting outside when I pull up. She meets me at the passenger door with a smile.

“Hi. How are you feeling?” I’ve probably asked this question more in the last couple of months than ever before. Isn’t it what you’re supposed to ask someone who is expecting a baby?

“Once again, I’m good.” I guess I need to find a different topic. “Where are Pete and Geneva? I thought we were dropping them at the airport.”

“They decided to leave last night so they could look around Austin before flying back today.”

That’s not exactly right. I was informed by my overbearing sister and eyebrow-wagging best friend that they were going early so I could have Brontë to myself all day.

It was a nice gesture, except they left me too much time to think about everything I could do or say wrong. What if today turns into the worst day of her life? Now I’m the one that’s being overdramatic. Mental eye roll.

“That’s too bad. I would have liked to say goodbye.” She settles into her seat. Carefully, I pull back into the street.

“I’m sure you’ll see a lot of them over the next coming months. Geneva won’t admit it, but she’s excited about becoming an aunt.” She smiles. “And just so you know, Pete is insisting on being called uncle, even though I pointed out he’s technically not related.”

“I think Uncle Peter is perfect. I can think of worse influences on this little one than a highly successful architect with a degree from Virginia Tech.” What the hell?

“You’ve been checking out Peter?” To say I’m butthurt would be an understatement. You know, that whole jealousy thing that I refuse to work out.

“I’ve been researching you too.” She gives me a side-eye. “And your sister.”

“Oh?” That makes me feel at least marginally better.

“Yeah. There’s lots about you and the company online. As a matter of fact, your online profile might just be all I really know about you. Grew up in a family who made their fortune in real estate, graduated from a prestigious private school, attended an even more prestigious college, named one of the ten to watch in Business Online.”

“That was a horrible picture.” It looked like a headshot out of one of my school yearbooks. Geneva still teases me over it.

“True. I liked the one of you with the celebrity, leaving some charity event that hit the gossip rags. I thought you looked quite handsome. Very serious.”

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