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“Maybe,” she winks, and her face goes earnest. “I hope you and Gwendolyn are enjoying getting to know one another.”
“She’s nice.” I say it too quickly, and it’s too vague, and it’s not really representative of the person I’m supposed to be describing. And Nan knows it.
“Sawyer.”
“She doesn’t make it easy, getting to know her.”
“Hm. Can you imagine? Trying to get to know someone who’s a little closed off?”
It’s different. I’m different. I have reasons for not sharing everything about myself and my past; Gwen’s just being difficult. But Nan would have no patience for that answer, so I tell her I’ll keep trying.
“Great,” she smiles. “Now, make sure you’re ready for dinner in two hours. I’m heading off to the casino.”
“Going to win some money for your favorite grandson?”
She pats my cheek and winks. “You would be my favorite even if you weren’t my only, dear.”
Sawyer
Formal night seems to bring people to the main restaurant in droves, wearing everything from dress shorts and polos to tuxes and bowties, sundresses and sandals to evening gowns and heels. One couple passes our table, and I’m sure they’ve taken a wrong turn on their way to a James Bond cosplay convention.
Nan and Maggie have interpreted the theme more comfortably, and they both wear sparkling tops and wide black dress pants that look like skirts from a distance. And Gwen… Gwen is breathtaking. That first night, there was so much structure to what she wore, but tonight the stiff lines of that dress are replaced by fabric that drapes over her curves, like melted silver that was poured over her skin, pulling in just the right places, showing off a gorgeous figure underneath. It hugs her body like a lover might. Not that I’m thinking about Gwen and her lovers.
Normally I’d stand when a woman arrives at the table, but now I pull my napkin into my lap and take a drink of cold water, considering the idea of dumping it onto myself for a makeshift cold shower.
Gwen lowers herself into her seat and avoids eye contact as she straightens the silverware.
“Don’t you look lovely,” Nan tells her, and Gwen smiles shyly and thanks her. Nan nudges me and clears her throat, and I take a hint.
“You look really nice,” I add, and suddenly bashful Gwen is masked by something else. She shoots daggers my way.
Maggie looks between us and tries to keep the conversation flowing. “Did you have a nice day today, Sawyer?”
I take another sip of water and feel Gwen still staring at me. “It wasn’t quite as eventful as yesterday, but it’s been good.”
“I’m sure the kayaking was a wonderful experience.”
This time when I answer Maggie, I meet Gwen’s eyes. “Right. The kayaking.” I know both grandmas are confused about what else I could mean, but I ignore the silent request for explanation and flash my brows at Gwen. If she’s going to make it difficult to get to know her, I’m going to be equally as frustrating.
Her foot grazes my shin and I brace for the impact of a swift kick, just as our server brings us each a glass of wine. Gwen bites her lip before raising the glass. “A toast,” she says, “to the unexpected.”
Nan and Maggie exchange a look and shrug; Gwen arches a brow at me, clinking her glass against mine before taking a sip. Then it all makes sense, this coyness from her, because her foot follows the line of my shin in gentle strokes as a devilish grin spreads across her lips. I swallow my wine, ignoring the desire to melt into her touch.
“Gwendolyn,” Nan says, “Sawyer tells me you two found the library this morning.”
“Sure did. It’s a great place to catch a sunrise. Actually, I found an old romance novel like the kind Gram used to read all the time.”
“Used to?” Maggie chuckles. I love that there is not an ounce of shame in this woman when it comes to smutty books.
“And,” Gwen adds, “it looked like Sawyer was really enjoying his book.”
I shrug my answer. “It’s alright, I guess.” I swear a kick should be connecting with my leg at any moment, but Gwen’s retaliation is even more diabolical than physical pain. She sinks lower into her chair and wraps her foot behind my calf, then readjusts and slides it between my legs, past my knees. And shit. It’s all I can do to silence the moan that longs to escape my mouth. Gwen drinks her wine and moves her foot higher. I clear my throat and straighten the napkin on my lap, which makes her laugh and nearly spit her wine back into the glass.
Maggie looks at her like she’s lost it. “Gwen, my goodness. Are you okay?”
If Gwen wants to play dirty, I can do that too. I drop my hand to her foot, skimming my fingers around her ankle. Her expression betrays her, and her cool demeanor breaks for just a moment. I’m more than a little smug when I ask, “Yeah, Gwen. You okay?”
“I’m fine.” She pulls her foot back just as our food is delivered, and spends most of the rest of the meal with her eyes down, avoiding my gaze.
