along mine makes me shiver.
“So, Kurt,” he asks, and my sexy thoughts trip and fall over the Incompatible Topics Cliff. “What does he do for a living?”
“He frames houses. Started working with my dad when he was fifteen, and then Dad died and Kurt took over. He was twenty-two and has been doing it nearly every day since. I gave it a try before the dystonia started, but even then I complained so much he actually gave me twenty dollars to go away.”
James choke-laughs on a sip of wine, and I kick him again. “So when I called Melly to tell them what time we made the reservations for, she said Rusty was up in your room?”
He nods and looks at me like he broke a rule.
The expression is so hilarious, I burst out laughing. “I don’t care if he’s in your room, James.”
“Honestly, I think he was lonely. Well, mostly I think he wanted to watch the game, and since he and Melissa had to share a room on this leg, and she wouldn’t let him use the TV, he came down to me. I’d feel bad for him, but he’s just as much to blame for their problems as she is.”
I pull back, brows furrowed. “Some would even say he’s more to blame, seeing as how he decided to stick his penis in a woman who isn’t his wife.”
James holds up his hands, immediately clarifying, “I don’t mean the affair. I mean the terrible marriage.” He leans in, lowering his voice. “You’ve read the most recent book, I take it?”
I groan. “About a thousand times to hunt for typos, yes.”
“It’s actually pretty good, right?” He sips his wine, and the way his throat looks when he swallows is very distracting. “If they actually followed their own advice, they’d have an amazing relationship.”
“I’m hoping for your sake he’s not planning a sleepover.”
James starts to laugh, and then his smile falters. “God no.” He pauses, sipping his wine again and watching me. “I don’t share my bed with just anyone, you know.”
The air between us vibrates, warm and charged.
I finally manage a lame “Well, I’m glad to hear that.”
He continues to study me the way he always does, but for once the weight of his focus makes me feel awkward and overwhelmed, and I turn back to my plate. “Just a few days more and the show airs.”
“I feel like I’ve been working for the Tripps for a decade. I don’t know how you do it.”
“Right? And how have I done it for so long?” I agree, glancing over to their table.
From here, their fondness looks real enough. She’s talking and he’s listening in that way he has, like she’s his sun and moon and the only woman in the world. They look like the couple you see on TV. It almost makes me wonder if they have a chance. Would counseling help?
“Do you think there’s a way they could ever make it work?” I ask.
He lifts a brow.
“They used to love each other so much.”
“I think …” He trails off. “I think sometimes we see what we want to see.” There’s an edge of sadness in his voice that catches my attention.
“This sounds … personal.” I lean in, way more interested in hearing about James than I am in talking about the Tripps over candlelight.
“My parents divorced when I was fifteen,” he says. “They sat us down one day and said that just because they didn’t love each other anymore, it didn’t mean they didn’t love us. I was totally blindsided. They’d never stopped being friendly and warm to each other, so I had no idea they were even talking about divorce. It was like being hit by a truck. They said Dad had already rented an apartment but he’d still come by. Nothing would change.”
I reach across the table, squeezing his hand. “I’m sorry.”
For a beat, the conversation at the table near us—Melly and Rusty’s—goes quiet. I don’t have to look over to know that Melly is watching us. And apparently neither does James. He carefully pulls his hand out of mine.
“Not to spoil the story,” he says, “but everything changed. I remember asking Jenn if she had seen it coming, and she seemed surprised that I hadn’t. I told her they seemed so nice and gentle with each other. She said they fought almost every night after we went to bed.”
“You were a fifteen-year-old boy,” I say. “I bet if I asked my brother what color my