Page 88 of The Temporary Fiancée
I smile, trying to meet his gaze. “It’s not your fault.”
“No, but I feel like I should’ve warned you better,” he admits. “Or gotten them to behave, or something.”
“Shane was fine,” I offer.
He rolls his eyes. “Shane is always fine. Shane is the most well-adjusted member of the family, by far.”
“Yeah, he’s definitely the most normal Eastwood,” I say, earning me a playful, half-hearted nudge from Reed.
“I always liked your family more,” he tells me, a wistful look on his face. “I remembered them, too. I watched your parents, back when your mother worked for my father.”
“And?”
“They were just… good to each other. So much less dysfunctional. Even when they had disagreements, they still had each other’s backs. They talked about things that mattered instead of empty, useless shit. Real stuff, you know?” He shrugs one shoulder. “Nobody in my family cares about anything real.”
I nod silently, thinking about Cecily, and how she only seemed to care about her social standing. Even when meeting her son’s alleged fiancé, talking about the plans for his wedding, she couldn’t bring herself to look beyond her own status.
“I’ve always wanted that,” Reed says. “Someone who cared about things that mattered. But it just doesn’t exist in my family.”
“Well, you’ve got Shane,” I point out. “He tried to stick up for us.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“You have each other. You could have each other’s backs.”
He glances down at me, smiling crookedly. He pulls me a little closer to his side, and I revel in his warmth.
“You’re right,” he says. His voice is less tight now; some of the anger has faded from it. There’s less tension in his body, too.
We keep walking, comfortable together even though we have no particular destination in mind. I’m starting to recognize the area, though; it’s part of midtown that I’ve walked often, one of my favorite parts of the city. When I head out for the night, I often get off the metro a few stops early just to walk through here.
We pass by a familiar cross street, and I pause at the corner of the intersection, staring down at my favorite block in all of Manhattan.
The buildings here are all older than the fresh, modern-looking high-rises that have started to crop up around the city. The storefronts have brick facades, and there’s beautiful molding around all of the windows. Trees line the sidewalks. I’ve seen them flower in the springtime.
Reed slows down beside me, giving me a curious look. “What is it?”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” I say, tearing my gaze away from the street.
“No, seriously. What’s up?”
I sigh, looking down at the sidewalk beneath our feet. “I always used to walk past this street. The buildings are so fancy… I always used to daydream about having a shop, right there.”
I lift my hand to point at the building that always caught my eye the most—one with an ivy trellis and a door painted white. A smile creeps across Reed’s face as he looks at it.
“A little boutique,” I say, “where I could sell the stuff I knit. I know everyone sells online these days, but… I liked to fantasize about having a brick-and-mortar store, too. I’d… I’d put flower boxes in the windows, and…”
I trail off as I realize that he’s staring at me, and heat rushes through my face. I drop my gaze quickly. For some reason, the confession is deeply embarrassing.
“What?” I say, defensive.
“Nothing,” he replies with a gentle laugh. “Tell me more.”
He seems sincere, so I hesitantly say, “I… I always liked the kinds of places with chalkboard art on their open signs. I’d keep the door and windows open on nice days, and… I’d have some products available in-store, but I’d take customs, too.”
Cautiously, I look back up to meet his gaze and realize that his eyes are bright with warmth.
“Thank you,” he says.
