Page 29 of Worth the Try
My face burns even brighter. “I swear, I live in the guesthouse behind his house.”
“She lives in thepoolhouse,” Kari intones, and the pair of them laugh.
“Shut up,” I mutter, taking another sip of my drink.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Kari says. “But you’d make a pretty great couple. He’s the nerdy rugby player in the slutty short shorts, and you’re the sweet-as-pie Disney princess. The happily-ever-after practically writes itself, Elodie.”
“Except this is real life,” I remind her. “And in real life, thirty-year-old women are let go from their jobs and find themselves nannying, which is super ironic, given their fiancé dumped them because they can’t have kids.”
Sam’s mouth snaps shut.
Kari makes a choking sound.
“Did I…say that out loud?” I whisper.
“Babe,” Kari says, reaching for me.
I wave her off. “It’s okay. I promise.” And it is. Mostly. I’ve had a couple of years to get used to the idea. I shake it off and laugh. “Clearly, the margaritas are a little strong.”
“That they are,” Sam says, her eyes softening with something that looks oddly like…solidarity?
“So, Sam, tell us what you’re up to while your brother tries out for the team,” I say, desperate to shift the conversation away from me.
Sam sighs. “Honestly, I’m not sure what I’m going to do. Tour around the country a bit, take in the sights. I promised Mum I’d get Ollie settled, but he’s twenty-two, not a child.”
“You’re just visiting, then? No plans to stay if he makes it?”
She shakes her head. “I’m on break from my job for the summer. We’ll see what happens.”
“What’s your job?”
“Physical therapist. Sports therapy, specifically.”
“Ooh, maybe the Granite is hiring,” Kari says playfully.
Sam rolls her eyes. “Mum would love that, honestly, but I’m not sure. I’ve been Ollie’s therapist for a few years, but it’s not like he can’t have a different one.”
The rest of the night passes in a pleasant blur of drinks and laughs. By the time I step out of my rideshare, it’s a little after eleven. I let myself through the back gate and am passing by the fenced-in patio when I hear his voice.
“Elodie.”
I freeze in my tracks, the sound of my name in Ansel’s husky timbre sending shivers across my skin.
The door hinges open to my right, and there he is, leaning casually against the frame and backlit by a solitary candle burning on the table behind him. He’s in low-slung shorts and a T-shirt, the same outfit he’d been in earlier—not that I make a habit of noticing his clothes. Except I do. I always notice.
And those glasses. He never wears them to practice, but it seems they stay on at any other time. Thin wire frames rest perfectly on his face, highlighting his already stupidly handsome bone structure and bringing even more attention to his gorgeous eyes. Eyes that saw a little too much last week.
I swallow. “Hi—hello,” I stammer.
His lips quirk up the tiniest bit. “I thought you were finally immune to me.”
And there it is. The way he says it, the open, loose way he stands. He’s put the ball in my court. Whatever I say next can change everything. And maybe it’s the alcohol running through my veins, or maybe I’m just done being shy, but I’m done. It’s not worth hiding the truth from him. Not worth being nice for the sake of it. Because nice girls don’t ruffle anyone’s feathers. Nice girls make themselves small. They smile and look at the ground and do whatever is needed to keep the peace, even at their own discomfort.
I don’t want to be nice anymore.
Squaring my shoulders, I meet his stare in the dim light. “I don’t think I’ll ever be immune to you.”
A soft laugh escapes him, and the sound of it, unguarded and pleased, sends another wave of shivers across me. He lifts a glass I didn’t notice before and toasts me with it. “Glad to know I’m not alone in this.”
