The Ten-Year Game Plan

Chapter 23- Donovan

Josie winced.

"Not hiding," she explained, giving me a look that told me she was very much hiding me from this woman, "we go to school together. Donovan plays—"

"But you came together?" Aunt Cecilia asked, her discerning and wrinkled eyes flitting between the two of us. Josie hesitated and her Aunt's eyes narrowed.

"We did," I answered for her, "and I would like to ask Josie to dance with me, if you could be so kind as to spare her for a moment?"

"Oh, go go dear boy. Take her!" Aunt Cecilia said, probably too enthusiastically. I resisted the urge to laugh and held my hand out to the slightly dismayed girl by her side. To my thrill, she took it.

Her hand was slightly chilled, but that was to be expected as she'd been gripping an ice-cold cocktail for courage the entire night. As we neared the dance floor, she gripped my hand the same way. But that was alright. I could do that.

There were other couples on the wooden dance floor set up for tomorrow's festivities, but they were all at least ten years older. As soon as I led her there, I took a step back. She hadn't challenged me the whole way there.

Nor did she challenge me when I reached for her. Or when I put an arm around her waist. Or when I brushed a long piece of gold hair behind her ears. Or when we started swaying gently to the music that was playing. Her hair smelled like lavender, but the perfume she wore on the column of her throat was something a little darker. Headier.

"So," I swallowed, trying to keep my hands loose on her hips rather than gripping them on instinct. "You never told me you have an English aristocrat for an aunt."

Josie snorted and rolled her eyes. "Cecilia is from Kentucky. Old money. She's my great aunt and related to my dad through some marriage or another. She used to hate my mom though."

"What?" I balked, "why?

Holly Troutman was the most inoffensive and unassuming human being. When my dad would go on business trips, Holly was the one who drove me to practices when mom was working. She was one of my emergency contacts at school and when we were in middle school, she brought cupcakes to the class on my birthday.

She was also one of the only people that my mom told about what happened at the beginning of the semester. Holly swore up and down not to tell her daughter after I asked. Still, without fail, Holly Troutman brought dinner over every Sunday and sat with my mom until she ate a full plate. Maybe two.

So if Aunt Cecilia had a problem with her, I had a problem with Aunt Cecilia.

"She always thought my mom was too... artistic," Josie emphasized the word as though some people here thought it might be a bad thing. "She wanted to work and have a family. Aunt Cecilia thought that was preposterous and never hesitated to tell her."

I shook my head. Clearly, Aunt Cecilia was stuck in another century. Josie had lots of eccentric relatives, and I was a little bit jealous of her for that.

"Is this weird for you?" I asked after a moment.

She shrugged, knowing exactly what I was referring to. Her gaze flitted to where her father stood with Wendy, laughing at something a relative said.

"A little," she admitted, "but not as weird as I thought it would be. You're helping."

"I'm helping? I haven't done anything."