Page 21 of Jack
“Thanks. Mom’s instruction in the kitchen as a kid. All the boys know how to dance.”
She nodded, casting her gaze around the room. He followed and spotted Conrad dancing with Penelope Pepper, who practically glided along the floor, and then Steinbeck and Austen, who had that twin thing going on that made them immediately in sync. And finally his eyes landed on Brontë and Oaken. Brontë was laughing, her eyes light, and the look of it twisted inside him.
Yeah, he’d been a jerk, and not just to Harper.
Harper stepped on his foot and they nearly tripped.
“Oh! Sorry!”
He grabbed her around the waist, moved her out of the circle while they caught their balance. “It’s okay.”
“Aw, this is stupid. I can’t do this.” She untangled herself and walked away.
Could be she was talking about the dancing, but maybe?—
“Harper. Um, can we talk?”
She looked at him, her eyes wide. “No. No, we’re good. It’s fine. Let’s try it again.”
Oh.
She came back to his arms, and right as they entered the circle, Julian clapped his hands.
“Okay, that’s enough for today. We’ll pick it back up tomorrow with theDirty Dancingroutine.”
Harper let go of Jack like he had a lethal disease and walked away.
And there went that chance at redemption.
“So. You apologize to Boo yet?”
Jack sighed and turned to Steinbeck. The man wore a pair of dress pants, a white oxford, and despite the fact that Steinbeck was younger, he could crush a man with a look. Now he leveled it at Jack.
Who gave him the same look back. “We’re good.”
“Maybe, but you threw a cluster bomb into the middle of this family. I think that’s going to take more than just awe’re good.”
Jack shoved his hands into his pockets, glanced toward the door of the restaurant. “I was wrong, okay?”
Steinbeck blinked at him.
“I didn’t want her getting hurt.” And mostly he was talking about Brontë.
“She served with the Marines—” Steinbeck started.
“As a Navy corpsman. Vast difference between what you did and her job.”
“She still deployed into combat zones. Still had to keep up. Keep a pig alive, if you remember.”
Of course Steinbeck had to go there.
“I remember,” Jack growled.
“Even the part when you said she could barely keep herself alive?”
He shot his brother a look. “Not here.”
Steinbeck’s eyes narrowed. “Four years is a long time to let something fester. Boo might have acted like it’s all good, but you left an open wound when you basically dared her to go on that reality show.”