Page 106 of Protecting Love

“So I’ve witnessed. It’s like he knows exactly when to give just enough,” London said, studying her sister’s face like she was solving a puzzle. “You look different.”

Paris rolled her eyes. “I look tired.”

“You look on edge. You know, like if I was looking in the mirror.”

She turned her head slowly. “No need to insult me.”

London grinned, completely unbothered by the comment. “I’m just saying. You’re kind of touchy for a woman getting... touched.”

“I am not touchy,” she argued. Which of course proved the point right there because most times she’d just hum and walk away.

Not that she could walk anywhere stuck in traffic.

“You impatiently tapped your foot waiting for our coffee order this morning,” London insisted. “That’s me, not you. Then you rolled your eyes when I wanted a ride home rather than walk.”

She stared out the Uber window as rain streaked down the glass.

Her finger tapped the window. “A little rain hurt no one.”

“Only my shoes,” London said, picking up her suede pump.

Her sister had a point.

“Next time bring sneakers to change into.”

“Or,” London argued, “we get a ride.”

She looked at her watch. “This traffic is crazy.”

“There’s an accident up ahead,” the driver said. “I’m going to turn at the next street.”

“He’s good with you,” London added more quietly. “I saw that.”

She didn’t answer right away.

“He’s good,” she said finally. “And yes. Things are fine. Or they are with us. It’s early. I told you. Things are complicated, but maybe they will settle down.”

London’s grin returned instantly. As if she just handed over a can, the opener, and was waiting for the worms to crawl out.

“So when do I get to find out more about the teenage son?”

“Don’t ask. I don’t even know that much.”

“I’m just curious,” London said, her voice carrying that telltale sign that this conversation was far from over. “How old is his son again?”

She regretted telling her sister so much on Sunday. But it wasn’t like she had much of a choice once Fletcher left.

It was as if it was open market season and London wasn’t leaving the store until she was loaded down with everything she wanted.

“Sixteen.”

“Ah,” London nodded thoughtfully. “Prime ‘I hate my dad’ years.”

She smiled despite herself. “From what I’ve gathered, they’re solid.”

At least now.

But she was positive it hadn’t been like that for years.