Amber couldn't stop thinking about Rawls's text message. "Sweet dreams" played over in her mind as she got ready for Claire's party the next evening. This wasn't the big birthday celebration—that had happened yesterday. Tonight was just close friends for pizza and movies.
She checked her outfit in the mirror—nothing fancy, just jeans and a blue top that Claire once said matched her eyes. Amber brushed her long brown hair and added a touch of lip gloss. Not that she was trying to impress anyone. Especially not Claire's dad.
When Amber arrived at the Benedict house, music was already playing. Claire ran to the door, her blonde ponytail bouncing.
"You're here! Dad's burning the garlic bread!" Claire laughed, pulling Amber inside.
In the kitchen, Rawls stood by the oven wearing an apron that said "Kiss the Cook." Smoke rose from the open oven door.
"I got distracted on a work call," he said with a sheepish smile. "Hi, Amber."
"Hi," she managed to say, her cheeks warming. "Need help?"
"Always," he admitted.
While Claire greeted other guests, Amber helped Rawls save dinner. They worked side by side in the kitchen, their shoulders sometimes brushing. Every little touch sent sparks through Amber.
"You're much better at this than me," Rawls said as she expertly flipped pizza dough. "Where'd you learn to cook?"
"My grandma taught me," Amber explained. "After my parents split, I spent summers with her."
Rawls nodded. "Claire mentioned that. It's not easy growing up with parents apart."
"It gets better," Amber said softly, noticing the sadness in his eyes.
Their conversation was interrupted when Claire burst into the kitchen with her friends Liv and Doug.
"Dad! Amber! Come join us!" Claire demanded.
Rawls leaned close to Amber. "Duty calls. But save me a dance later?"
Dance? Amber's heart skipped. Was he joking?
In the living room, furniture had been pushed aside to create a dance floor. Claire's friends were already moving to the music. Amber helped serve pizza, trying not to stare at Rawls as he chatted with the guests.
"Girl, stop drooling," whispered Liv, Amber's friend from college. "You're so obvious."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Amber hissed back.
"Sure you don't," Liv smirked. "You've only been watching him all night."
Amber's cheeks burned. "Keep your voice down!"
Doug Dawson, a guy from their biology class, approached with empty plates. "Need help serving, ladies?"
"We've got it," Amber said quickly. Something about Doug always made her uncomfortable.
"Your loss," Doug replied with a wink before walking away.
"He likes you," Liv noted.
"Not interested," Amber said firmly.
Later, as Amber carried a stack of plates to the kitchen, she nearly bumped into Rawls coming through the doorway.
"Whoa!" He caught her shoulders to steady her. "We have to stop meeting like this."
His hands lingered a moment too long, and their eyes locked. Something flickered in his gaze that made Amber's breath catch.
Then Claire's voice called from the living room: "Dad! Your phone's ringing!"
The moment shattered. Rawls stepped back, clearing his throat. "Excuse me."
Amber watched him go, her skin still tingling where he'd touched her.
In the kitchen, she distracted herself by cleaning up. Through the window, she could see Rawls outside, pacing as he talked on his phone. He looked upset.
When he came back inside, his face was tight with worry.
"Everything okay?" Amber asked.
Rawls sighed. "That was Karla. Claire's mom."
"Oh." Amber's stomach knotted. She hadn't met Claire's mother, who had moved across the country after the divorce.
"She's coming to town next week. Surprise visit." He rubbed his forehead. "I should tell Claire."
Before he could leave, the doorbell rang.
"I'll get it!" Claire called from the living room.
Moments later, Claire appeared in the kitchen doorway, her face pale. Behind her stood a tall man who looked remarkably like Rawls, but with longer hair and a mischievous smile.
"Look who showed up, Dad," Claire said, her voice strained.
Rawls's face hardened. "Simpson."
The man—Simpson—grinned wider. "Hello, brother. Miss me?"
Amber felt the tension crackling between the brothers. She tried to slip away, but Simpson spotted her.
"And who is this beautiful woman?" he asked, catching Amber's hand before she could escape.
"This is Amber, Claire's friend," Rawls said stiffly.
Simpson kissed Amber's hand, holding her gaze. "Charmed. Any friend of my niece is a friend of mine."
Unlike Rawls's gentle touch, Simpson's felt bold and calculating. Still, Amber couldn't deny he was handsome, with the same blue eyes as his brother.
"Simpson, what are you doing here?" Rawls demanded.
"Can't a man visit his family?" Simpson released Amber's hand but kept smiling at her. "I'm staying in town for a while. Business opportunity."
"You should have called," Rawls said.
Simpson shrugged. "Where's the fun in that?"
Claire looked uncomfortable. "Um, we're having a party..."
"Perfect! I love parties." Simpson turned to Amber. "Dance with me?"
Before Amber could answer, Rawls stepped between them. "Sim, we need to talk. Privately."
As the brothers left the kitchen, Claire leaned against the counter, sighing. "Uncle Sim always causes drama."
"I didn't know your dad had a brother," Amber said.
"They don't talk much. Something happened years ago." Claire frowned. "But he's always super nice to me. Sends amazing birthday gifts."
Back in the living room, the party continued. Amber noticed Rawls and Simpson in deep conversation on the patio, their faces serious.
Doug approached Amber again. "Want to dance?"
Distracted, she agreed. While they danced, Amber kept glancing at the brothers outside. What were they arguing about?
The song ended, and Doug leaned closer. "You're beautiful tonight."
"Thanks," Amber said awkwardly, stepping back.
Suddenly, Simpson was beside them. "Mind if I cut in?"
Before Doug could protest, Simpson swept Amber into a dance, his arm firm around her waist.
"So, Amber," he said smoothly, "how long have you known my brother?"
"He's my best friend's dad," she answered carefully.
Simpson chuckled. "That's not what I asked."
His knowing tone made Amber nervous. "Seven years, I guess."
"Interesting. And you're what, twenty-two?"
"Twenty-three."
"My brother always did have a soft spot for helping Claire's friends." Simpson spun her around. "Especially the pretty ones."
Amber frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing, nothing." His eyes twinkled. "Just making conversation."
Across the room, Amber noticed Rawls watching them, his expression dark. When the song ended, she quickly thanked Simpson and walked away.
Later, as guests began leaving, Amber helped Claire clean up. Rawls was nowhere to be seen, and Simpson had made himself comfortable on the couch with a glass of whiskey.
"Your Uncle seems... interesting," Amber said carefully.
Claire rolled her eyes. "He's trouble. Dad's been on edge since he arrived."
Amber's phone buzzed with a text. To her surprise, it was from Rawls:
Could you meet me in the study? Need to ask you something.
Her heart racing, Amber excused herself and walked down the hallway to Rawls's small home office. She knocked softly.
"Come in," he called.
Rawls stood by the window, moonlight outlining his strong profile. He turned when she entered.
"Sorry to pull you away," he said.
"It's okay. What did you need?"
He hesitated. "Two things, actually. First, I wanted to warn you about my brother."
"Warn me?"
"Simpson has a way with women." Rawls's jaw tightened. "He noticed you right away."
Was that jealousy in his voice? Amber's pulse quickened.
"I can handle myself," she assured him.
"I know you can. It's just..." He stepped closer. "With Karla coming, and now Sim showing up... things will be complicated."
"I understand," Amber said, though she wasn't sure she did.
"The second thing," Rawls continued, now standing so close she could smell his cologne, "is this."
He handed her a small leather book. Her journal.
Amber's blood turned to ice. "Where—how did you—"
"It was on the floor in the guest room," he said quietly. "Your name was inside. I didn't read it, but..."
But had he? Did he know everything? Her secret feelings, her dreams about him?
"Thank you," she whispered, clutching the journal tightly.
Something in his eyes made her wonder. He was looking at her differently.
"Amber, I—" he began.
The study door swung open. Simpson stood there, smirking.
"Well, well," he drawled. "What have we here?"
Behind him, Claire appeared in the hallway, her eyes widening as she took in the scene—Amber standing close to her father, clutching her secret journal, both looking guilty as sin.