Page 70 of The Best I Never Had

Camila’s standing at the hostess station, her dark brown curls piled into a high bun with a poofy headband, and I stop for a quick hello.

“I thought you worked at the front desk?” I ask.

“I do. And the restaurant. And the tasting room. And sometimes housekeeping. At least bellhop is off the table,” she says, gesturing to her bump. “Pretty sure my parents expected more of their five kids to join the family business, but it’s just me. I need to hire some new employees before my maternity leave, but who has the time.”

I lift an eyebrow. “Seems like something you make time for.”

“Did you come here to have dinner or to attack me?” she asks, narrowing her eyes. “Because I believe someone is waiting for you.”

She jerks her head toward the Hayeses’ table. Owen’s watching me, the weight of his gaze like a thousand electric pulses throughout my body. When we make eye contact, his lips quirk up. He rolls them together to hide the smile, and when that doesn’t work, he rubs one hand over his mouth. But it doesn’t matter that the curve of his mouth is hidden, because it’s all there in his expressive eyes. His delight and desire, painted in shades of blue and green.

Everyone is seated when I make my way over. There are two free spots—one next to Addy and one next to Owen—and my body screams at me to take the seat I want. To feel the warmth of Owen’s body in the small space between the chairs. But that would raise eyebrows, so I stop next to Addy.

Before I can pull the chair out, Diana rushes to her feet. “I’d like to sit there. Why don’t you take the seat across from me?”

The free seat next to Owen.

“Mom, you’ve already sat down,” Owen says quietly.

“I didn’t think about it when I chose my seat, but I’d rather sit there,” she says through gritted teeth, widening her eyes at Owen in a way that isn’t as inconspicuous as she thinks.

“I’d like to sit by Addy, if you don’t mind,” I say, shooting for casual.

Diana makes a psh sound, walking over to maneuver me around the table. “Nonsense. You see Addy all the time. This is my chance to get to know you again.”

She laughs, light and airy, but Addy flinches across the table.

“Mom,” Harrison barks out, but I step closer to her before he can continue.

“Don’t you dare make Addy feel unimportant again,” I say in a vicious whisper for Diana’s ears only, praying it doesn’t reach Addy.

Diana meets my eyes, seeing the hardness there. Yes, this is my sort-of boyfriend’s mother, but my job here is to protect my sister. Her eyes widen, like I’m watching her process that I won’t sit back and let her treat Addy poorly, and she starts backpedaling.

“The perfect thing about this seat,” she says, glancing frantically between the four of us, “is I get to sit close to both of the girls, which is all I want.”

None of us mention she was fine not sitting close to Addy before I walked up. I’m hoping that Addy’s so securely wrapped in her Harrison love bubble that she doesn’t notice, but the forced nature of her smile says otherwise.

Diana scurries around the table to her new seat, fussing over Addy—how stunning her sundress is and how smooth and bouncy her curls are—shooting me glances that say, See, I’m being friendly, and I let out a sigh of relief. If Owen and I are going to make this thing between us work, the more Diana likes me, the better, but I won’t sacrifice Addy on the altar of gaining Diana’s approval.

The table’s tight, like they squeezed six chairs at a table made for four, and every time either of us shifts, our arms brush. Owen casually slips his hand over, giving my knee a quick, reassuring squeeze before taking it back. I mourn the loss of contact immediately, even though I know he can’t keep touching me here.

The beginning of the meal passes without anything of note. Diana peppers us both with questions. The tension in Addy’s shoulders from her earlier comment doesn’t disappear completely, but releases a bit more with every smile and thoughtful hum from Diana’s lips.

I’m two bites into my filet mignon when Owen’s hand slips back onto my knee, and every cell in my body goes on high alert. He doesn’t look my way, talking about something with the group that I can’t compute while he’s touching me. His hand doesn’t move, just rests on my leg. I sit in anticipation until his middle finger shifts, the smallest of circles that has other parts of my anatomy clenching. All my existence has narrowed to that one millimeter of space.

But two can play this game. I take a bite of my mashed potatoes and let out a borderline pornographic moan. His fingers tighten on my thigh in response, a five-point star of pure sensation.

“This is so good,” I say, fighting to keep the words clear and strong when I feel breathless. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Owen’s lips tilt.

“I’ve always loved this restaurant,” Diana says. “The cook’s phenomenal.”

“I’m so impressed,” Addy says, unaware that her brother-in-law’s fingers are making a slow trek up my leg.

I didn’t realize until now that Owen’s left-handed, but I’m grateful for it. He keeps spooning his mushroom risotto into his mouth like nothing’s happening, while his right hand teases, moving up until it meets the frayed edge of my shorts and slips underneath. I widen my legs, praying those long, rough fingers can reach where I need them. He pushes against the resistance of the denim, running the tip of his middle finger over my center before circling my clit.

While Addy, Harrison, and Diana are distracted, discussing the quality of the locally sourced vegetables, Owen leans over to whisper, “Next time, I want you in a dress.”

My ridiculous whimper brings everyone’s attention back to me. I cough. “It’s … just really, really good.”