I chuckle. "You don't have to walk on eggshells around me. I don't mind curiosity, as long as whatever I say doesn't get to the press."
Her smile fades as I hand her the soda. "I'd never do that."
"I meant in general, not you specifically."
She takes a small sip from the glass. "Okay. I didn't get to thank you for agreeing to visit the kids at St. Anne's, by the way. It means a lot to them."
"Sure, no problem. That's one of my favorite parts about this gig. How did you get into volunteering there?"
"Well, Daniel and his wife adopted two kids from there. One thing led to another...." She lowers herself on the couch while she explains to me about St. Anne’s, and her skirt lifts a few inches. Nothing indecent, but enough to reveal beautiful, toned upper thighs, making my mouth water. Christ, she's pretty, sitting there, legs crossed, her rich dark hair pulled to one side, baring her neck. Swallowing hard, I look away.
A honk resounds from outside, startling Summer. She nearly spills the remaining soda on her, but catches herself in time.
"That'll be the movers," I say. "I'll just ask them to unload the boxes, and then we can go. It'll take five minutes tops."
"Okay."
"Mr. Fulton," one of the guys says five minutes later. His voice drips sarcasm. He recognized me right away. "I need you to sign extra for this last box. It contains valuables. You need to open it and confirm that all items on the list are inside."
They've offloaded all fifteen boxes, and the guy just laid the last one at my feet, holding a list.
"What valuables?" I ask.
He glances over the list. "Philip Patek watch, Omega watch, eight-carat diamond ring encrusted with emeralds."
I freeze, feeling like someone punched me straight in the gut. Amy sent me the engagement ring with the movers? Jesus Christ. I didn't even want the damned ring back.
"That's fine, you can go," I say in a composed voice.
"I need you to open the box and sign the list before."
If he realizes the ring is our engagement ring, he doesn't let on. Crouching down, I open the box. Two watches, a ring box. I don't bother opening up the box. Standing up, I sign the damned list. "Everything's here. You can go now. Thank you for your business."
I feel a vein pulsing in my temple as the movers’ truck pulls out.
"We should go," Summer says quietly, stepping past the boxes in the living room. When I meet her gaze, I realize she knows exactly what was in that box. Women put two and two together much quicker than men, and she's looking at me with pity.
"Yeah. Let's go." My voice comes out low and harsh, making her wince.
"I'm sorry. That... that was the engagement ring, right?"
"That's none of your business."
She flinches again, harder. Fuck, what am I doing? This isn't her fault.
Rolling her shoulders, she juts her chin out. "That's a shitty thing, what just happened, but I'm not the one who sent you the engagement ring with the moving company, so don't bite my head off. If you want to reschedule the trip to St. Anne's, I can arrange that. Don't want you blinding the kids with your sunny disposition right now."
Well, well. It's been a long time since someone called me out on my shit.
"I'm going to wait in the car for ten minutes, give you some space. Call me if you want me to reschedule."
And without another word, she walks out of the house and slips out through the gate. I scrub my hands down my face and take a few deep breaths to calm down. That was a dick move. But rescheduling would be an even bigger dick move. I know how much kids look forward to these things, and I don't want to disappoint them, or Summer.
I'm an actor. It's my job to smile even when I don't feel like smiling. So I grab my leather jacket from the hanger and head out.
Summer is looking pointedly out her window when I climb into her car. We sit in uncomfortable silence for a few seconds.
"I'm sorry, Summer. I was out of line."