“He who?”
He gave her a come on look. “You know who. The one you wanted to see me be especially attentive to you.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“It was implied in your utter desperation to get me here.”
Hard to argue the truth. Harder still to admit the truth, that she was indeed hoping to show off in front of Walker, making sure he knew he no longer mattered to her.
A lie, of course. But she no longer mattered to him, and her pride—the big, fat ball of it stuck in her chest—would allow nothing less than for her to show up here happy, successful, and unavailable.
Lies on lies . . . But she’d always been good at digging her own grave.
Sammie was teetering around at top speed, giggling as she tipped first one way and then the other, looking like a staggering, happy drunk. When she headed for the street instead of the front porch, Heather gasped, but Jace got there first, quickly scooping her up. “Gotcha!”
As most females did, Sammie stared up at him dreamily. She was a total mini-Heather, and Maze shook her head in marvel. “I can’t believe you have a kid.”
Heather shrugged and smiled. Maze recognized the smile, as it was the same as hers.
Forced.
Caitlin moved ahead of them to open the door, but Maze held back and eyed Heather. “You okay?”
“Better now.” Heather watched Jace hold Sammie, keeping her safe. “It’s a lot to handle on my own.”
“I can’t even imagine. There are days I can hardly manage taking care of myself, much less be in charge of another tiny, admittedly adorable little human.”
Caitlin, with her catlike hearing, turned back to them. “But you didn’t have to do it alone.”
Heather looked stricken, and Maze slipped an arm around her. “Cat,” she murmured in soft reproach.
“I know. God . . .” Caitlin shook her head. “I’m sorry. I just wish you’d have let me help.” She softened the words with a sad smile. “I feel like we’re all strangers and I hate that. Let’s go inside.”
The cabin was an A-frame, with big windows and a porch for a stunning lake view. Maze had been here several times before, during that year they’d spent with Caitlin’s parents in Wildstone. She hadn’t had the best of luck with foster homes up to that point, but she’d finally started to relax, knowing there would always be food if she was hungry and no one was going to yell at her.
Or worse.
What she remembered most about this place was Cat’s mom baking a lot of cookies in the small, cozy kitchen. She’d even tried to teach Maze to bake. That part had been an utter failure, mostly because all Maze had wanted was to eat the cookies. Well, that and spend time with Cat’s mom, which, if she was being honest, was the real prize. Her own mom had considered Maze an afterthought. There’d been a huge emotional disconnect for her own daughter, something Maze hadn’t realized she’d felt keenly until landing in the Walsh home.
She could remember one time in particular with Cat’s mom. Maze had loved to lick the spoon when Cat’s mom made cookies, and once she’d also sneaked a lick of the bowl as well. Nothing had ever been more like her secret fantasy family life than that little act of defiance. Of course, Shelly, Cat’s mom, had caught her, head in the bowl, tongue swiping the last of the batter. Maze had frozen, deer in the headlights, certain that she’d get in trouble. And trouble for a foster kid usually meant stuffing your belongings into a trash bag and getting a one-way ride to a new place.
But Cat’s mom had simply laughed softly, handed her a paper towel to wipe the batter from her nose, and hugged her. “Sometimes I do that too,” she’d confessed.
The memories were some of the best of her shitty childhood, and she felt herself relaxing as Caitlin gestured them inside. From the depths of the house came a fierce snarling and snorting sound. “Oh my God,” Cat said to the unseen growlers. “Put a cork in it. We come in peace.” And with that, she swung the door open wide, revealing two teeny . . . well, it was hard to tell, actually. They looked like bowling balls with faces. Smashed-in faces.
Caitlin glanced back with an apologetic smile. “The pugs are Dillon’s. Don’t worry, they don’t bite—unless you’re a big dog and they need to establish their dominance, aka small-man syndrome. And even then, all they can reach are ankles.”
Heather picked up Sammie.
A lanky, lean guy sat on the couch holding the remote, wearing plaid golf pants and a pale blue shirt, looking like he’d just walked off the cover of Golf magazine.
“Everyone,” Caitlin said, “meet Dillon.”
Dillon stood up. “Come here, babies,” he said to the pugs, and scooped them up, gently setting them on the couch. Then he very formally shook everyone’s hand. Maze was last, and he eyed her over their handshake. “You’re Mayhem Maze.”
She thought she did a great job of not wincing at her old nickname, which, okay, yeah, she’d earned. Sneaking into the principal’s private bathroom and looping plastic wrap around the toilet beneath the seat (evil, okay, yes, but he’d yelled at her in front of everyone for stealing—which she hadn’t done—and called her a hoodlum, so she figured she might as well live up to the name, right?). Adding green food coloring to the water dispenser in a dentist’s reception area (she’d heard him refer to her as a typical punk-ass foster kid, and hey, there was nothing “typical” about her). Blowing up her chemistry lab volcano (accidentally, honest!) . . .
“Guilty,” she said to Dillon.
She figured he’d smile or say something teasingly. Instead, he remained serious as he leaned in and whispered, for her ears only, “Don’t mess this up for her, okay? The wedding’s very important to her, and she’s important to me.”
Then he turned away and sank back to the couch and his game.
Okaaaay. Maze let out a shaky breath and turned to the door with some half-baked idea of running for the hills, except she nearly barreled into Caitlin.
Caitlin lifted a beautiful green plant with white flowers in a ceramic container. “Remember this? We painted this container at a ceramics class that summer, and I’ve kept the plant alive this whole time. I thought maybe after the wedding you could take it home and babysit it while I’m on my honeymoon.”
Maze lifted her hands. “I’ve got a black thumb. I’ll kill it.”
“In a week?”
She thought about how quickly she’d managed to get off on the wrong foot with Caitlin’s future husband. “You’d be surprised how fast I can kill things.”
Cat sighed and Maze felt like a jerk. Cat had offered her an olive branch. It was also a blatant attempt to make sure they saw each other again when Maze would have to give the plant back.
“Sure,” Maze said, and took the plant. “Just don’t expect it to be alive.”
Cat smiled. “I know you’ll do your best. That’s all I can ask.”
Maze’s chest hurt.
Heather had given Sammie a piece of banana, and she had it smashed in both hands as she ran around doing her staggering drunk impression again, happily chattering in baby speak. Her bright eyes landed on the pugs, now in Dillon’s lap, and she beelined straight for them with an excited scream.