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Accepting the breadstick, she took a ladylike bite. Mmm, yummy.
“Why didn’t you get married, Gemma?”
Coughing as the breadstick paused in her windpipe, she took a slug of wine. “What do you mean?” she asked when she could talk again.
Ethan’s blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Elyse and Scott came to Seattle for a home game and mentioned you were engaged. Had the rock and everything.”
Swell. She poked at the beef en croûte. “I wonder how they cook this steak without burning the pastry?” she mused aloud to change the subject.
“Too personal?” The deep dimple in his left cheek appeared. “Even for old friends like us?”
Gemma held her hands up in surrender. “Okay. Yes, I was engaged. We were supposed to have gotten married last month, but we called it off. End of story.” Sort of.
“Your wedding was supposed to have been last month?” He whistled beneath his breath.
“It’s fine. We ended it a long time ago.” Shrugging blithely, she sawed at the beef.
“How long?”
“Almost a year.”
He considered that. “How are you doing tonight?”
It wasn’t the question that made Gemma set her knife and fork to the side of her plate, but rather his tone. How was she doing? He’d asked it so plainly, no hesitation, no lurking reluctance to hear the answer. Most of her family, except for her mother, tiptoed around the topic as if it were a land mine. “I’m all right,” she answered quietly. “But sometimes I wish—”
“Ethan Ladd, you’d better save me a dance tonight.” A hand glittering with rings clamped Ethan’s shoulder. “I haven’t seen you in so long, I almost forgot what you looked like.” Throaty laughter punctuated the statement as a platinum blonde with long straight hair crouched beside them in a sequin-encrusted dress that hugged her body so tightly a bead of perspiration couldn’t have fit between the material and her skin.
“You remember me, don’t you? Crystal McEvoy.” She batted outrageously fake lashes. “Senior year prom? Best date of your life?”
Ethan turned his head slowly to observe Crystal. “Sure, I remember you.” He leaned back and draped an arm at the back of Gemma’s chair. “You know Gemma Gould?”
“Hi.” Predictably, Crystal glanced at Gemma only long enough to appear polite, then shifted her attention back to Ethan. “You save a dance for me.” She put a hand on his thigh, obviously trying to lay claim to a lot more than a dance. “We can pick up where we left off.” Crystal trailed her fingers over Ethan’s chest and shoulder before she walked back to her table, swaying her hips the entire way.
“Where were we?” Behaving as if the previous moment hadn’t happened, Ethan looked at her, not Crystal.
Whoa. Was he going to ignore the fact that he’d practically been groped by a woman he hadn’t seen in a decade and a half? “Uhm...” She couldn’t remember what they’d been discussing prior to the other woman’s arrival.
“You were telling me about your engagement,” he prompted.
Talk about being dumped by her fiancé after that exhibition? Not happening.
Crystal’s perfume lingered in the air, but it wasn’t strong enough to overpower Ethan’s pheromones. Gemma had always known when Ethan was at her parents’ house, even if she’d just walked in the door. Everything about the house changed. It smelled like soap and aftershave and...him. Like right now.
“You okay?” Ethan asked as the bride and groom’s first dance wound down. “You look flushed.”
“You’re right, it’s hot in here.” She waved her hands at her face.
“It’s probably not any cooler on the dance floor, but you want to give it a try?”
Dance? With her and not Crystal or one of the bachelorette bridesmaids? Gemma felt as if the hottest guy in school had just asked her to homecoming—genuinely this time.
“Oh, Gemma, good, you’re done eating!” Her sister Lucy appeared at the banquet table, bouncing baby Owen in her arms. “Hi, Ethan,” she greeted. “Gem, they’re about to open the dancing, and Rick and I haven’t danced without the kids practically since our wedding. Would you hold Owen while I get out there with my husband? Pretty please?”
Lucy was indescribably lovely, with translucent ivory skin, a dancer-like long neck and shiny dark hair she wore simply in a perfect bun. She did look tired, though.
With a rueful glance at Ethan, she replied, “Sure,” even though she thought she might tear up in disappointment.
Lucy blew her an air kiss. “You’re a peach.” She beamed at Ethan. “She’s such a peach. Okay, baby boy, over the table and into Auntie Gem’s arms.” An old pro at handing off kids, Lucy didn’t bother to walk around the table; she merely passed Owen over the stemware. “He’s fed and dry. We’ll just dance to a couple of songs. Thank you, thank you,” she said sincerely as she sped to her husband.
Gemma dangled the eight-month-old above her lap. The baby tried to grab her nose.
“Nasa-fa!” he said.
She turned to Ethan. “That’s Owen-speak for ‘nose.’”
“Quite the conversationalist.” Ethan nodded, but didn’t smile. And now Crystal was wriggling their way.
“Oh, Ethan,” she sang.
“Come on.” Abruptly taking her arm, Ethan helped her to her feet.
“Where are we going?”
“For a walk.”
Guiding her past an unhappy Crystal, whom he didn’t even acknowledge, Ethan led them out of the ballroom. With Lucy’s baby in her arms and Ethan’s hand firmly beneath her elbow, Gemma felt less like a maiden aunt and more like—just for a wee sec—a wife and mommy. Thinking about the man beside her cast in the role of loving husband and baby daddy, she realized how easily that fantasy could become a habit.
Chapter Four
As Ethan propelled Gemma away from the reception, he could practically feel the tension drain from his body. The noise, the crowd, the many pairs of eyes not-so-covertly trained on him—it made stepping through the broad double doors feel like freedom.
Up a short flight of stairs sat a private alcove and a hearth crackling with a lively fire. With a hand resting lightly at Gemma’s lower back, Ethan steered her toward an overstuffed love seat.
“Here?” He made the pretense of asking, but was already loosening his tie.
“Perfect.” Sinking onto the cushions, she kicked off her high heels and tucked the burbling baby into her lap. Her feet were bare, toenails some wild shade of neon orange with sparkly stars, and he couldn’t help but smile as she curled them over the edge of the coffee table. Even her feet were fun.
Sitting beside her, Ethan made himself comfortable and propped an ankle on his knee. “How old is this guy?”
“Owen is eight months old today, aren’t you, old man?” Gemma bounced the baby on her legs, smiling as he shrieked with joy.
“He’s cute.” The compliment sounded lame, but until recently his experience with babies had been limited to his teammates’ kids. He’d admired them from a safe distance when they were infants, enjoyed them more once they were old enough to roughhouse or to joke around with. Now that a baby had been dropped into his own lap...hell, he was half convinced they were aliens.
“So, uh, how long before these little guys settle down?” he asked.
“Settle down?”
“Yeah, you know, when do they stop crying?”
Gemma laughed. “Gee, I don’t know, maybe when they’re eighteen?”
He felt like an idiot. “Okay, when do they stop crying 24/7?” For the last two months, he had witnessed misery personified as his sickly, scrawny nephew struggled to adjust to...pretty much everything.
Gemma didn’t immediately answer, seeming to give his question serious thought. “What’s the baby’s name again?”
“Cody.”
“You’ve taken him to the pediatrician?” she asked.
“Of course,” he snapped, then ducked his head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound defensive, but we’ve been to the pediatrician four times.” He was afraid he must be doing every damn thing wrong, or why wouldn’t the screaming have, at the very least, lessened by now? “The last two times, I went to Portland for second and third opinions. They all say the same thing.”
“And that is?” Gemma asked softly.
The very thing he didn’t want broadcast all over Thunder Ridge. Ethan dragged his free hand over his mouth and considered Gemma. He didn’t understand why, but somehow he knew he could trust her with the whole story. “The baby I’m taking care of is my nephew.”
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