raising his own glass, a look Harper swore was respect in his gaze as she met his eyes.
“So, Harper what is it you do, exactly?” Mrs. Fairbanks asked, abandoning her spoon in her still-full soup bowl. Hadn’t she said she was starving?
Harper set down the roll she’d been about to slather with butter. “I started my own company several years ago. I do nature tours, take tourists out to camp or to hunt, or sometimes just for the day.”
“I . . . see,” Mrs. Fairbanks said, looking as though Harper had just told her she cleaned Port-a-Potties for a living.
“Started your own company, did you? And so young. Very enterprising,” Mr. Fairbanks said, and he seemed genuinely impressed. “Do you enjoy it?”
She smiled. “I do. But I don’t believe I want to do it forever. I plan to start classes in Missoula soon.”
Mr. Fairbanks gave her another nod and then picked up his glass once more, smiling around the table. “Well, let me propose a toast. To new endeavors”—he turned his eyes to Harper and smiled—“and to having my grandson back.” He appeared to get choked up for a moment, but just as quickly recovered. “It’s been too long since a Fairbanks son has sat at the family table.”
Everyone raised their glasses, Brett scowling, Gabi rolling her eyes again, and Loni’s gaze glued to Jak. Harper suddenly wished she’d asked for something stronger than water.
The rest of the dinner went by relatively quickly, everyone seeming eager to get away. At least the food was incredible, though Jak seemed suspicious of it all, and Mrs. Fairbanks pushed hers around her plate.
Harper noticed Jak watching the food being cleared and as the woman picking up the mostly full dishes passed by, he stopped her, asking softly, “What do you do with the food?”
She looked down. “The food, sir?”
Jak leaned back, speaking more quietly. “The food we don’t eat.”
“We . . .” The woman glanced around helplessly, but no one but Harper was paying attention to the exchange. “We throw it away, sir.”
“Oh.” Jak turned, the expression on his face embarrassed and dejected. He swallowed and Harper’s heart ached. She felt ashamed for every extra bite of food she herself had thrown in the garbage. How often had he starved? How often had he sat somewhere in the forest, hungry and alone? To see the excess here—the thoughtless waste—must be so incredibly distressing.
Finally, Mr. Fairbanks stood. “Thank you for a lovely meal, everyone. I have some work to get back to, but, Harper, it was nice to have you join us.” He gave her a nod, and everyone else stood as well.
“Thank you, Mr. Fairbanks,” she said as he left the table.
Jak came around and took her hand, shooting a threatening look at Brett, who was already moving away. She took Jak’s hand eagerly and let him lead her from the dinner table.
They both seemed to breathe a mutual sigh of relief as they walked quickly down the hall and into the foyer. Nigel appeared as if out of nowhere and they both startled, covering their mouths with their hands as he let them out the door. They both withheld their laughter until the door closed behind them and then their laughter exploded, both fast-walking away from the house as they tried in vain to keep their hilarity muffled.
Jak swung her under the garage door awning on the other side of the house and they gave in to their laughter. Harper had needed the release and felt a hundred times more relaxed once her giggles had subsided. It had all been so ridiculous.
They were awful. With maybe the exception of Jak’s grandfather. But even he was obviously judgmental, only not where it counted. Why hadn’t he turned that sharp-eyed judgment on Loni and her bratty, insufferable children? Still . . . they were Jak’s family. He needed them if he was going to thrive in his new life. At the very least, he needed what they could provide for him. The Fairbanks name would open any number of doors that would never open for mere mortals—like her.
“What do you think of them?” Jak asked once their bout of laughter had completely faded away. “Do you . . . enjoy their company?” He raised a brow.
She gave him a small smile. “They’re not the Gallaghers.” She reached up, moving a lock of hair off his forehead. “But they’re your family. Your grandfather cares about your well-being, I can tell. He wants to help you