“Thank you,” I blurt, but he’s already gone.
“Well, that was awkward,” mutters Brie.
“Tell me about it. What’s the deal with Devin’s dad?” I ask Marcus.
He shrugs. “No clue. I just know he’s some kind of big shot.”
Brie snorts. “He’s a big, douchey dick. Sorry,” she adds to me. “I know he’s your boyfriend’s dad, but I call them like I see them.”
“Not my boyfriend,” I say. “But otherwise, yeah.” I can’t believe how Devin’s dad belittled him, and in front of his friends to boot. And judging by Devin’s stoic response, I’d wager it wasn’t the first time it’s happened either.
I glare at Roger through the crowd, at his broad back and the haughty lift of his chin. Mom might push me, but she’d never speak to me like that—alone or in front of other people—or intentionally try to make me feel small. Sympathy for Devin curls around my heart.
And Perry. No wonder he doesn’t get along with his dad. I have no idea what kind of offer his dad was talking about, but clearly it’s a sore spot between them. And it sounded like Devin told their dad something about Blooms & Baubles Perry didn’t want him to know. I grip the bag of snacks so tightly against my ribs its contents crinkle.
This is going to be one interesting night.
Forty-five minutes later, Devin finally reappears. He flops down between me, Brie, and Marcus onto the thick navy blanket we’ve spread on the ground, hair windswept and cheeks rosy. “There you are. Where have you been?”
“Right here. Where have you been?” Draining the last of my hard cherry seltzer, I drop the can into the empty paper bag serving as our makeshift recycling bin and take a long drink of water from my Hydro Flask.
He lifts a bottle of Coors to his lips. “Sorry. I ran into my Great-Aunt Lydia and got roped into a very long conversation about, let’s see, her fireman son, the state of her ulcer, and the failing health of her favorite Chihuahua.”
“Did you find Perry?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I think he left.”
“That’s too bad.” My gut tightens. I was hoping I’d get a chance to thank him for the paint set, but it looks like that’ll have to wait.
Devin shoves to his feet. “Come on. I want you to meet some friends of mine. I saw them earlier but haven’t had a chance to say hi yet.”
“Are you guys okay here for a bit?” I ask Brie and Marcus.
Brie salutes me with a potato chip. “For sure. You go on ahead. Marcus and I are going to play cornhole.”
His dark eyebrows bounce. “We are?”
“Yep, and I hope you’re good… because I hate to lose.” Grabbing him by the bicep, she yanks him off the ground and toward the three cornhole sets farther down the shore.
Devin proffers his hand. I take it, and he hauls me to my feet. “Come on, let’s go.” Slipping my canvas bag onto my back, I follow him.
“Are you okay?” I ask Devin after we start walking.
“Fine. Why?”
“I don’t know. Your dad… he’s hard on you, isn’t he?”
He gazes out at the shimmering lake dotted with boats. “Sometimes. He just wants me to be my best.”
“By belittling you in front of your friends?” I say quietly.
“He wasn’t belittling me. He’s right. I still have a lot to learn if I want to be as successful as he is some day.” His neck stiffens, tendons straining.
“I have no doubt you will be. Even more so, I bet.”
After a long moment, he takes my hand. “Thanks, Cass.”
Devin leads me through a maze of folding chairs and blankets until we reach a group of twentysomethings sitting in a row of lawn chairs facing the lake, sipping drinks as they talk. There are four of them, three men and a woman, and with their polo shirts, twill shorts, and the woman’s immaculate pink sundress, they all look like they could have stepped out of a J.Crew catalogue. They stand when they catch sight of Devin and me.
“Devin, you dirty dog!” one of the twentysomethings calls. He’s ruddy faced and stocky, with close-cropped blond hair. “How the hell are you?”
“Mikey,” Devin drawls.
Clasping hands, they bump shoulders.
“Need a refill?” Mikey asks.
Before Devin can answer, Mikey exchanges Devin’s empty beer bottle for a fresh one from their cooler. Devin attempts to pass it to me, but I shake my head. I’ve had two hard seltzers already, and between those and the heat, I already feel a bit woozy. Shrugging, he cracks it open. “Thanks.”