Page 26 of The Billionaire Is Back

“Well, you and I can stop by to see Mike some other time,” my mom says through gritted teeth as she smoothsout his tousled hair. “Claire is too tired to go to a barbecue. Right, Claire? You don’t want to go, do you, dear? Look how tired she is.”

“She looks fine. That’s how she always looks. You look fine, honey. She’s a fine specimen,” he says, in the same marvelous tone he once used when describing a Steller’s sea eagle, so I know he meant it in a good way.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Well, I’m gonna head out, then,” Vera tells me. “Since you’re fine.”

“Yep. Getting finer by the minute. Say hi to Damien for me.”

“Not gonna see him! Bye, Sweeneys.” She grabs her shoulder bag and disappears from the kitchen.

I hear her say a super chill hi to my brother down the hall. Jake strolls in, carrying a gigantic laundry bag full of dirty clothes. He is grinning from ear to ear, practically jolly. He looks more like an off-duty, totally ripped Santa Claus than a fireman. “You guys will never believe who’s in town.”

“We know,” my dad says. “We’re talking about going to the barbecue.”

“What’s there to talk about? Let’s go!” Jake says. My mother takes his laundry bag from him. Jake’s been coming by on his nights off whenever he doesn’t have a date, and he hasn’t been dating much lately. He is perfectly capable of doing his own laundry, at his place or at the station, but Jake Sweeney doesn’t like to be alone. “I’ve got this, Mom. I came by to check out the stove.”

“Aww, my angel.” She pinches his cheek. “You remembered. But we’re not going to the Barbers’,” mymother tells him. “I’ll put together a flower arrangement for you to take to them.”

My mom doesn’t want me to go to the Barbers’ house because she doesn’t want me to get hung up on Grady again. We never, ever talked about it, and my dad and brother certainly had no clue, but I know she saw how I used to stare at Grady. All heart-eyes when he wasn’t looking. Back when he used to hang out here. My mother and I didn’t talk about why my eyes were swollen pink from crying the morning she had to drag me out of bed to go to Jake and Grady’s grad ceremony. She and I both know that Grady Barber still isn’t an option. Even if it has nothing to do with the girth of my hips or how skinny my bank account is, it has everything to do with the very different scopes of our ambitions. And the fact that I don’t care about him.

“Could everyone clear a path so I can get to the oven, please?” I snap as I pick up my cookie sheet.

My mother pulls my dad and ushers the dogs out of the kitchen. “I’ll throw these in the wash and cut some flowers out back.”

“What is going on?” my dad mutters, totally lost—the poor guy. “What am I missing?”

Jake steps aside, away from the wall oven, and frowns at me. “You’re off work—why are you baking?”

“Because it relaxes me!” I yell as I slide the tray onto the rack and slam the oven door shut.

I set my timer for twelve minutes and refuse to look at my brother’s stupid, concerned face.

“Why are you so stressed out right now?”

“I’m not stressed! I just don’t know why everyonedecided this area right here in front of the oven was the best place to stand when discussing a barbecue. It’s just a barbecue! What’s the big deal?”

He crosses over to the built-in gas cooktop at the center of the kitchen island. “Grady’s back.”

“Yes. I am aware that he’s back. Who do you think made the welcome-home cake for him? I’ve already had the pleasure.”

Jake tests the different burners. “Wait, you saw him already?”

“It’s the top-right burner. Pilot stopped coming on the other night. Hopefully it’s not the gas line,” I inform him. Then I casually add, “Yes. Grady came by the bakery to pick up the cake.”

Jake doesn’t even react to this information about me seeing Grady. In all the years we grew up together, it never, ever occurred to him that I would harbor any kind of girly feelings for his best friend. He tests the top-right burner, and sure enough, it doesn’t light up. “Come to the barbecue with me.”

“No. Can’t you see I’m busy?”

He removes the burner grate, gets level with the countertop as he inspects the burner head. “Busy doing what? Baking cookies? You literally do that all day. Your life is so lame right now, I actually get depressed when I think about it.”

That totally derisive comment causes me to snort laugh because the thought of my happy-go-lucky doofus of a brother being depressed at all, much less about me, is hilarious. “Why can’t you say something nice to me for once?”

He grabs a spray cleaner and heavy-duty scrub sponge from under the sink. “Okay. I think it would benicefor you to go to the Barbers’ with me so you can talk to Grady about business stuff. He can help you figure out where you went wrong and fix your shit.”

I smack my forehead. “Oh my God. I didn’t do anything wrong with the bakery! My shit doesn’t need fixing.” To say that my brother would run into a burning building for me is not saying much because he would literally do that for anyone—it’s his job. He’ll even intimidate a douchey tourist dude or five if he catches them hitting on me. But I sometimes wonder if he and Grady swore an oath to criticize everything about me and my life choices back when we were kids. “Why don’tyouask for his advice?”

“Because I’m not the one living with our parents.”

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