To Sir, with Love - Lauren Layne Page 0,29

starting a family.”

“Oh, Lily.” I immediately move to hug her, but she gives a quick shake of her head. I know she’s trying desperately to hold it together, so instead I squeeze her arm.

“I thought I’d made peace with it. We talked about a surrogate, adoption, but then we just sort of… stopped talking.”

“Why, do you think?”

She squeezes her eyes shut. “I’m so mad at him. I wanted to start a family years ago, but he kept saying he wanted to build his career first. At the time, I loved him all the more for it. Both because he wanted to make sure he could support me and a baby, and because he said he wanted to put in the long hours then so that when we started a family, he could be the sort of dad who was around. And of course, you always hear that women’s fertility decreases as they age, but I just… I really thought it would happen for us.”

“Maybe it still can. Or like you said, there are other ways to become a mom, and you’d make such a great one.”

“I know,” she says with such Lily-like confidence I smile in spite of the heartache I feel for my sister—and for Alec too.

“Have you guys thought about therapy?”

She snorts. “He’d have to actually be around for that. I’ve been distant—I’ll admit that. But his way of dealing with it is to work more than ever. Now we hardly see each other, and when we do, there’s just this… distance.”

Lily sighs. “I don’t know what to do, Gracie. I genuinely don’t. Maybe you’re the smart one, steering clear of men. Why do they have to be so difficult?”

For some reason, my first thought is Sebastian Andrews. Difficult doesn’t begin to explain the man. Or what I feel when I’m around him.

To say nothing of the mysterious Sir.

Both of whom are taken.

Difficult indeed.

“You know I’m here. If you want to talk,” I say softly.

“I know,” she says, pulling me in for a hug. “I forget sometimes that my little sister no longer needs my help to put her hair in a bun for ballet class and can actually be a pretty good listener.”

We wrap our arms around each other, and I squeeze her tight. “What are the chances you could help me with my hair just one more time?”

She pulls back and gives me a critical once-over that doesn’t bother me as much as it usually might, because it means that for now, at least, her attention is on something other than her heartache. “You’re not wearing that, right?”

I do a sexy sway in my frumpy clothes and tennis shoes. “Of course I am. A journalist is covering the tasting tonight. What if they want my picture to go with the article? I must look my best!”

She shakes her head, and I push her to the back of the store and into the small staff bathroom, pulling the garment bag off the small hook on the door. I hear her turn on the small space heater, then unzip the bag and let out an un-Lily-like squeal, “Oh, I love this dress! I haven’t seen you wear it in forever.”

“I rediscovered it the other day,” I say as she takes the dress off the hanger and hands it to me. It’s the same blue dress I wore to Sebastian’s office, and even though that meeting didn’t quite go as planned, I’d liked the way I felt when I wore it.

Plus, if I’m honest, my closet is sort of slim pickings since my wardrobe budget really only has room for underwear and bulk buys of men’s undershirts.

“Please tell me you brought something to fix your hair too,” she says as I change, rummaging through the free tote bag I got from a book fair in Brooklyn. “Aha!” she says in triumph, pulling out a curling iron and plugging it in.

I slip on tan flats with a leather bow across the toe—no chance the pink heels would have made it all night.

Lily pulls the elastic out of my hair, freeing it from its limp ponytail, and then begins winding sections of my hair around the wide barrel, twisting each strand in a different direction than the last to avoid what she informs me would be “Shirley Temple curls.”

“Where’s your hairspray?” she demands.

“Um…”

She sighs. “Without it, these curls won’t last more than an hour, but it’s better than the pony. I guess.”

“Stop with the effusive compliments. I’m getting embarrassed!”

“Stay,” she says,