Page 54 of Backlash

“He’s a bit of a mystery sometimes,” Adair says knowingly.

“Well, she’s got your number.” Francie laughs.

I can always tell how Francie feels about a person. If she dislikes someone, her face gets pinched and her tone snappy. But she sounds like she’s reconnecting with an old friend as she says, “I’ve had years to get used to it, hon.” She grabs Adair and hugs her like a mama bear claiming a lost cub.

Adair looks a little ruffled by the affection, and I remember she doesn’t like hugs.

“Will you be joining us for Thanksgiving?” Francie asks her.

“Oh, um, I’m supposed to have dinner with my family.” She spares a glance at me. “I’d invite you to our house, but, honestly, I think this year will be a little rough.”

“That’s okay,” Cyrus steps in, saving the day. “The Eaton always delivers a meal to its guests.”

“The what-now?” Francie asks. “I figured we’d hit the grocery store and cook in the community kitchen. The dorm brochure said there was one on the ground floor.”

“There is?” Cyrus shrugs. It’s not like he’s ever bothered to check the Valmont dorm amenities. Why would he, when he has a five-star hotel at his disposal?

“Surely Sterling has cooked for you.” Francie clucks at me when she sees their vacant expressions. She pins her eyes on Adair. “Not even you?”

“No, ma’am.” Adair bites back a smile.

“I raised him better than that. No wonder you look so skinny,” she says, skimming my form. “You can’t live off dorm food.”

“Are you from the South?” Cyrus asks. “Because I feel like you will fit in here.”

“I’m from Queens,” Francie says as if that settles the matter.

Cyrus checks his watch. “I have to get going. You have the keys?”

I nod, carefully avoiding Adair’s eyes. I’d mentioned my arrangement with Cyrus casually, but I don’t want to linger on it. Adair MacLaine has never had to borrow a friend’s place to house her family. Because her house is the size of a castle and features multiple guesthouses on property?

“I should go, too.” Adair pops onto her tiptoes and kisses my cheek. “It was really nice to meet you.”

“Will I see you again?” Francie asks her.

“Um, that’s up to Sterling.”

Two sets of demanding eyes land on me. Nothing like being put on the spot.

“If you can get away from your family,” I say. The thought of spending the whole week without Adair sucks, even though I’m genuinely looking forward to showing Francie around. But I’m not certain Adair will enjoy being dragged to every free exhibit in Nashville, or eating whatever we can concoct in the hotel suite’s kitchenette. Not when she’s used to country clubs and multi-course dining.

“God, I hope I can,” Adair mutters. Our eyes meet, and I remember that for every way we’re different, there are a bunch more that we’re exactly alike.

“I’m going to walk Adair to her car.” I look to Francie for permission, and she beams with pride.

“I wouldn’t expect less. I’ll just be here,” she says.

I grab Adair’s hand and lead her into the hall.

“Your m… she seems nice,” Adair says breathlessly as I rush her out of the dormitory. “Sorry, I don’t know what to call her.”

“Just stick with Francie,” I advise her. “I struggled with what to call her when I first got placed with her. The other foster families I’d been stuck with before had insisted on titles and surnames. All that formality went out the door the second I stepped into Francie’s house. That didn’t mean she wasn’t tough, though. She was easily the strictest foster parent I ever had.”

“She straightened you out, huh?” We step out of the building into the crisp, breezy Tennessee twilight. Adair’s favorite car, a Jaguar Roadster, is parked dangerously close to the no-parking zone. I doubt anyone would have the guts to tow a car belonging to a MacLaine.

I walk her to it and open the driver side door for her.

“What a gentleman,” Adair murmurs.