The Next Day (Foothills Book 2) by Carrie Thorne (christmas read aloud TXT) 📕

took his breath away, which seemed to happen about every time he looked at her. Wrapped in her towel after showering this morning, her dark hair almost wicked, the curls were sharp and decisive. In her jeans as she sipped her coffee on the couch this morning, her bare feet tucked underneath her, the dark blue nail polish teasing at her sense of adventure.

And now. With her black leggings that ended inches above her ankles, her sleek black trailrunners, topped off with the pale pink quick-dry tank top he knew was under her lightweight wool sweater. She was a constant surprise. Sometimes she strolled across the lawn in her bare feet, wearing nothing but a drapey sun dress and her hair wild, no trace of make-up, telling of the artist she was. Other times, like at the wedding, she was a fricking siren straight out of a magazine. Or like now, she was utter practicality, but always sexy as fuck.

She grinned at his dumbfounded ogle as his parents followed the host, a wanton spark in her infinite blues as she winked at him. With a sheepish grin, he tilted his head and shrugged, then picked up the pace to catch up.

His parents took a damn hour to peruse the menu, and it wasn’t that complicated. They compared whether to try the burger made from local grass-fed beef or the shepherd’s pie, reading the details to each other. Beyond hungry, his vision blurred as he stared out the window.

Freya’s stomach rumbled at his side. She pasted on a winning smile, “Why don’t you each order one of them, then you can split and share?”

Susan chuckled softly and put down her menu. “That’s what Blaire is always suggesting.”

Shit. Here we go. He figured remarrying would neatly dodge this bit. No wonder his brother didn’t even fly home for Christmas anymore. “Mom,” he warned.

“I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t bring up your ex-wife, but we see her every day. It would be like you trying to tell a story without it including Archer.”

“Asher,” he muttered.

The server rescued them for a solid sixty seconds and got to deal with his parents’ arguing who would order which, before the server offered to have them plated in two separate halves.

“So, Freya,” Susan began. “What do you do for a living?” Yep, she hadn’t listened to the answer when she had complimented the painting over his dining table.

“I’m an artist.” Her tone wasn’t even sarcastic, as she’d been asked the same question a handful of times already.

“Oh,” she nodded, her cheeks were pulled so cheerfully tight, her facelift was showing. “I took quite a few art classes in school. It’s so important to be able to accurately sketch your designs. That’s probably part of why Zane never took to design.”

Zane answered before Freya could, “Her work is sold in galleries all over the world. Remember, the painting in my apartment?”

“Right, of course. That painting is delightful. I guess I didn’t realize you were serious that art was her occupation and not her hobby.” Long silence. His father refolded his napkin, draping it over his lap at a slightly different angle.

After a painfully awkward pause, their food arrived, and the excuse for continued silence was well timed. Smoked duck over a spring mix, plus a side of chowder; he was thrilled they shut up long enough for him to enjoy his meal. By the time he’d downed everything on his plate and ate the last of Freya’s fish, his father had finished a quarter of his half-burger.

Swallowing a bite, his mother asked, “Zane, are you planning to go back to school?”

Brow scrunched in utter confusion, he shook his head. “No…”

“Oh. Okay. I wondered. I mean, I would imagine that you are too rusty to go straight back into architecture, and there’s probably not much demand for such specialized expertise in Foothills, but you could work remotely.”

“I don’t want to be an architect now, any more than I did fourteen years ago.”

His father set down his burger and dabbed the cloth napkin on the corner of his mouth. “Then why did you study architecture? I mean, I know you joined the Navy for time to reflect and to save some money, but we always assumed you would return to the field.”

Leaning back in his chair, Zane folded his arms over his chest and chewed his cheek to keep his mouth shut. His gaze shifted out the window, watching the tourists hike up the paved trail.

Again the enthusiastic duo that had encouraged him to study architecture to begin with, his mother took her turn. “If Foothills is where you want to settle, then you’ll make it work. I mean, you already have the degree, plus we would be happy to help you get started. You could commute or even start your own business. We would be happy to hire you on as a remote designer and fly you out to the sites when needed.”

He could hear Freya’s teeth grinding at his side. She sat up in her chair, her back straightening as she inhaled to deliver a volcanic defense. He rested his hand over her thigh, letting her know it wasn’t worth the fight. For now, she bit her lip and stayed quiet.

The rest of lunch dwindled to awkward silence. No one felt like much of a hike after. They roamed the visitor center, but at their own pace.

Far from Foothills, Zane had no qualms about public handholding with Freya. Despite the awful morning and even worse lunch, she was a breath of fresh air. He’d wanted to skip the science lesson and wait outside, maybe sit on a shady park bench and make out for a bit. Nope, Freya had dragged him through the exhibits.

Right about the time he caught sight of his parents standing by the window in a pathetic attempt to