I look up and see him walking towards me. I watch the long length of his legs and the sun shining on the messy waves of his hair. He smiles, and I groan under my breath. “I’m fucked,” I say out loud. “Sorry,” I mutter to the old couple who just heard me. “But it’s the truth. Fucked,” I say sadly.

Chapter Eight

Jesse

When we get down to dinner that night, I stop dead.

“What is it?” Zeb’s hand comes to rest at the small of my back. He’s probably unaware of the gesture, but it feels like he’s branded me. I can feel the heat of his hand at my back, his fingers spread. It’s almost possessive, which is completely ridiculous, but I can’t deny that he’s seemed softer with me in some way since we got back from our afternoon out.

I sneak a look at him as he stares at the table, a small frown on his face. Probably looking for potential problems, I think affectionately.

He looks back at me. “What’s the problem?”

“The seating arrangements.” He looks at me in incomprehension. “They haven’t changed. I was hoping we were sitting next to Jeffrey Dahmer tonight rather than George and Mildred.”

“Nina and Victor,” he says in a measured voice, but the tug at his lips betrays his amusement. “And you’d probably have been better off with Jeffrey Dahmer because at least you could have had his share of the dinner menu.”

“I’m not sure who told you that you were funny, but I’d get a second opinion,” I inform him haughtily, and we both grin at each other like idiots until a throat clears. When I turn, I find the whole table watching us. Max has a grin on his face, but Patrick’s face is poisonous. Frances looks at him, and becoming aware of her glance, he rearranges his face hurriedly. I look at him thoughtfully and then obey Zeb’s urging and sit down at the table. I smile at everyone until I get to Nina, and the smile slides slowly off my face.

“Jesse,” she says in a glacial tone.

“Please don’t hurt me,” I mutter and then say “ouch” as Zeb kicks me.

She ignores me like the Queen of the Angry Dead that she undoubtedly is, and I settle down for what promises to be another fun-filled evening of food that wouldn’t fill a chihuahua, and conversation with Nina and Victor that runs the gamut of stocks and shares to icy digs at Zeb.

After one particular humdinger, I inhale sharply and open my mouth, only to shut it quickly when he grabs my thigh and squeezes. When I look at him he mouths, “Leave it,” and, endeavouring to keep to my plan of making him happy, I subside.