upholstery and had a better idea.
Grinning, Emmitt tossed his jacket over the back of the couch. His ballcap went over the lamp, sneakers stayed on, and the loose leaf stuck to his right heel went squarely in the middle of the coffee table. Satisfied with his handiwork, he walked down the hallway toward the loud voices erupting from the kitchen, sure to squeak his shoes on the recently polished wood floor.
Sunday at the Tanner house was reserved for football, barbecuing, and—after Paisley went to bed—a few rounds of poker. And while he’d missed the feast part of the festivities, the four-letter tirade coming from the kitchen told him he’d arrived just in time for the cards.
In keeping with Tanner tradition, his buddies were engaged in a high-stakes game of car-pool poker where someone’s man-card, it sounded, was in question.
“It’s just a few hours out of your week,” Gray said, cards in hand and working extra hard to maintain his poker face. For a guy whose career included delivering life-and-death news, he had more tells than an OCD patient in a public bathroom. “You know how important this dance committee thing is to Paisley.”
“The science club was important to her, too, which was how I wound up spending a good chunk of last year knitting sweaters for penguins in New Zealand.” This came from Grayson’s brother-in-law, Levi Rhodes. A straight-shooter and retired sailing legend who now owned the Rome marina and attached bar and grill, he was also Emmitt’s best friend—and the reason Emmitt had a half-naked woman sleeping in his bed. “I paid my time. You’re up, pal.”
“When she told me she’d signed me up to help with the dance decorations, I completely forgot that tomorrow is my only day off,” Gray said and Emmitt might have stepped in to help a friend in need—had either one of his friends bothered to remind him that the dance in question was this month. Okay, so he’d been out of reach for a few weeks, but an e-mail would have been nice. So he stood quietly in the doorway and waited for them to notice his arrival.
“I have plans,” Gray added.
Dr. Grayson Tanner was only a few years older than Emmitt but acted as if he were the grandpa of the group. He was stable, straitlaced, starched, and in the running for Stepdad of the Year. He liked long walks on the beach, shell collecting, and making detailed grocery lists color coded by category. He was a hometown freaking hero, and every single lady’s real-life Dr. Dreamboat.
Not that Gray was all that interested in dating after losing the love of his life four months ago. Emmitt wouldn’t be surprised if the guy never looked at another woman again.
“What? With a bottle of lotion?” Levi plucked two cards from his hand and placed them facedown, pulling two fresh ones from the deck.
“With your mom.”
Levi met Gray’s gaze over the top of his cards. “Everything all right?”
Gray shrugged. “Just catching up. We haven’t seen each other much since Michelle’s... uh... funeral.”
“Want me to talk to her?”
“I don’t need you holding my damn hand,” Gray said, discarding not a single card. “What I need is for you to find someone to cover the bar so you can go with Paisley to the meeting, then take her home.”
“No can do.” Levi leaned back and cracked his neck from side to side. He was built like a bouncer; had more tattoos than fingers; and, with his buzzed head and badass attitude, was often taken for a fighter rather than a boat builder who hand-carved high-end sailboats from wood boards.
“The Patriots are playing tomorrow, which means all hands on deck at the Crow’s Nest. I know that’s breaking news, since I have so many free nights,” Levi patronized. “But I’ll be working the bar and overseeing my new manager, which means you’re doing decorations and babysitting.”
“Can’t someone fill in for you?” Gray tossed three flash cards into the pile—two COOK DINNER and one EMPTY DISHWASHER. “I call.”
“Since when does a fifteen-year-old need a sitter?” Emmitt finally said, stepping into the room.
Both startled gazes swung toward him. Levi’s accusatory. Gray’s pissy.
Ah, home sweet home.
“What the hell are you doing home?” Levi asked at the same time Gray said, “Are you wearing shoes in my house? There’s a shoe rack for a reason. I even put a sign above it so you’d remember.”
“Oh, I remembered.” Emmitt opened the fridge, and the light caused a sharp pain to build behind his eyes. “I trampled through your flower bed on the way in. Lots of tread on these babies, wanted to make sure they were nice and dirty.”
“You don’t call, you don’t write, you just show up and drink my beer,” Gray said.
Water was more Emmitt’s speed these days. Not that a cold beer didn’t sound good after the shit in his fridge at home, but it wasn’t all that compatible with the elephant-tranquilizer-sized painkiller he’d taken before leaving home. He popped the cap then tipped the bottle back, nearly emptying it in one swallow. He grabbed a second bottle before closing the fridge.
He was still in the throes of jet lag. “Jet lag” that, according to the doctors in China, could last another three to forever weeks, depending on how lucky he got. Recent history told him lady luck was one vindictive bitch.
“Seriously, what are you doing home?” Gray pressed.
“Nice to see you too.” Emmitt flipped a kitchen chair around and, straddling it, took his seat at the table. “China was epic, by the way. The trip home was a little bumpy, but arrived safe and sound, thanks for asking.” He turned to Levi. “Call him out. He’s got a shit hand.”
“Looking at my cards and then spilling isn’t cool.” Gray stood. “This is why I hate playing with you two.”
“You love playing with us,” Emmitt said. “For the record, don’t look all smug when you have a shit hand. It tells everyone you have a shit hand.”
“I fold.” Gray tossed his cards on the table and stomped to the stove. When he came back, he held a big plate with a piece of chicken and—what smelled like—Michelle’s mac-n-cheese recipe.
The delicious scent of the melted cheddar had Emmitt’s stomach rumbling. He hadn’t eaten more than a few bags of peanuts and a protein bar on his flight home. That was thirty-some-long-hours ago.
“Any more of that in the oven?” Emmitt asked.
“Nope.”
“How about an extra fork?”
Gray looked up. Zero amusement on his face. “If you’d called to tell us you were home, I would’ve made more.”
“Would you also have reminded me that the father-daughter dance is this month?” When the other two exchanged guilty looks, Emmitt added, “I got a note about needing a dress.”
“Would it have mattered if I had told you?” Gray asked. “You’re supposed to be on assignment for another few months.”
Jesus, was the guy serious?
“Hell,
