Читать книгу Wicked Games - Alison Kent - Страница 9

“DID YOU HEAR THAT Doug Storey is moving to Colorado?”

Holding a forkful of spring greens halfway between her plate and her mouth, Kinsey Gray stared across the gIRL-gEAR conference room table at one of her lunch dates and business partners, Lauren Neville.

Doug? Moving to Colorado? Impossible. Unbelievable. “Run that one by me again?”

Lauren nodded, cutting off a chunk of spinach-and-feta cheese pizza and stabbing it with her fork. “Anton told me last month. Doug got an offer from a firm in Denver. An offer so amazing that he’s considering selling his half of Neville and Storey.”

“Selling out to Anton?” A curious frown creasing her brow, Annabel “Poe” Lee, the newest gIRL-gEAR partner, squeezed a lemon wedge into her steaming cup of tea.

Lauren shook her head, took a sip of her soda before answering. “No. One of the junior execs wants to buy into the firm. Nothing’s been settled.”

Maybe not in the world of the architectural firm Doug owned along with Anton Neville, but one thing had certainly been unsettled—Kinsey’s stomach.

Slowly, she lowered her fork to her plate and twisted her fingers into the linen napkin on her lap.

The thought of parting with even a pittance of her stake in gIRL-gEAR, the fashion empire she and her five girlfriends from college had launched the year after graduation, was absolutely unfathomable. Equally unfathomable was the idea of Doug selling his half of the company he’d been a part of building from the ground up.

But the thing she had the most trouble understanding was how he could even think of leaving her when she was still undecided about her feelings for him.

What did that song say about not knowing what you’ve got till it’s gone? Something like that, anyway. She took a deep breath and looked back at Lauren. “When is he leaving?”

Lauren shrugged, sawing again at her pizza. “The date’s still up in the air. Nothing’s been finalized. I thought he might’ve already said something to you.”

“No, he hasn’t.” And why hadn’t he? Why hadn’t he? The dog! Friends shared the goings-on in their lives. Especially friends with the history she and Doug had. In fact, if their history wasn’t so…scandalous and her feelings for him so personal, she’d think of him as family. He was that much a part of her life.

Still, Kinsey was not going to panic yet. “And, anyway. If nothing’s been finalized, then you should’ve said that Doug might be moving to Colorado.”

“No,” Lauren answered, shaking her head. “He’s definitely going. The timing and whether or not he sells his share of the firm are the only things not yet decided.”

Now Kinsey was going to panic.

“He’s flying back from Denver today, in fact, and flies out again on Monday.” Lauren took another sip of soda, then transferred another slice of pizza from the raised serving pan in the center of the table to her now empty plate.

She dived right back in. “But I can guarantee you the man will be in the office all weekend long. One day his work habits will be part of a case study on burnout, I swear.”

Watching Lauren attack her food, gIRL-gEAR CEO Sydney Ford frowned. “Uh, Lauren? You’re not eating for two, are you?”

Lauren rolled her eyes, but barely looked up from her plate to do so. “Ha. No. I’m not pregnant. I’m starving. Anton and I argued over bedroom furniture until the store closed at ten. I wasn’t in any mood to eat when we got home, so I went straight to bed.”

“And this morning?” Sydney blotted her lips with her white linen napkin. “Don’t tell me you were still arguing at breakfast.”

“Actually, no. We were making up.” Lauren didn’t even stop eating to blush. “I hardly had time to get to work, much less eat.”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Kinsey said. Her stomach rolled; her face felt clammy, as did the palms of her hands. This true love stuff was disgusting.

And now Doug was leaving Houston for parts unknown. Okay. For Denver.

Arching one dark brow, Poe studied Kinsey’s plate. “You don’t like your salad?”

“I don’t think it’s her salad.” Sydney ran a finger around the rim of her iced tea glass, a far too intuitive smile lighting up her face. “I think it’s Lauren’s news.”

“What?” Lauren finally stopped eating long enough to glower at her tablemates. “My fighting and making up with Anton is sickening?”

It was, but that was the least of Kinsey’s trouble.

She glanced from Lauren to Sydney to Poe, all the while feeling as if she’d left her body and was looking down at herself and the other three gIRL-gEAR partners. The four of them sat around one end of the conference room table.

The three remaining original partners—Poe having joined the firm only last year—had taken the afternoon off to spend a long Columbus Day weekend with their respective significant others.

Macy Webb and Leo Redding were busy moving the rest of her furniture out of the loft she’d once shared with Lauren in preparation for Poe to move in, while Chloe Zuniga and Eric Haydon were off for a weekend trip with Melanie Craine and Jacob Faulkner.

Kinsey almost needed a scorecard, so much had happened this last year: Sydney, Macy, Chloe and Mel finding their soul mates. Lauren finally marrying hers. Poe coming into the company as a full partner, taking over Chloe’s product lines, while she and Rennie Faulkner, Jacob’s sister and soon to be Melanie’s sister-in-law, launched the gUIDANCE gIRL mentoring program.

And what had Kinsey done? Waste the sixteen months since last year’s trip to an island paradise—a vacation during which she’d gotten to know Doug Storey intimately—twiddling her thumbs.

She and Doug had dated off and on. Nothing serious. Dinners and movies and ball games and concerts. Neville and Storey functions; gIRL-gEAR soirees. She’d thought he would always be around. She’d never imagined he’d move out of town.

Or leave her.

Now what was she supposed to do?

Poe offered her clearly expert opinion on Kinsey’s sudden illness. “No, Lauren. Not the fighting-and-making-up news. The news of Doug’s abandonment. Kinsey just realized she’s about to lose a friend with convenient and sizable options.”

“Pfft. Doug and I are friends, yes,” Kinsey said. “But I don’t know a thing about the size of his, uh, options.”

Poe returned her teacup to her saucer and laced her fingers together along the table’s edge. “Wait a minute. You’re saying you haven’t slept with him?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but no. I have not slept with him.” Emphasizing the word slept saved her from telling a lie.

“Even last year on Coconut Caye?” Sydney asked. “Like maybe late one night on the first-floor veranda?”

Kinsey shook her head. She wouldn’t call what she and Doug had done on the veranda that night sleeping. No bed had been involved. No postcoital cuddling. Besides, they’d been drunk and that meant it didn’t count.

Or so she’d been telling herself for sixteen months.

Neither of them had spoken of the incident again. And as much as she enjoyed her girlfriends’ kiss-and-tell bonding, she couldn’t bring herself to reveal the things that had happened that night.

Or how she felt about Doug.

Especially since she wasn’t quite sure what that was. “Doug and I are friends. That’s all. I haven’t even kissed him but once or twice since last summer.”

Three women turned their full attention on Kinsey. Two sets of blue eyes and one of brown prodded and probed and drilled. Brows up, brows down, brows level.

“What? What? What do you expect me to do? I’m not a first-move kinda girl. Besides, he’s always got work on the brain.” Kinsey was not going to put in any serious pursuit time only to end up an after-thought—after work, after business, after meetings, after deals.

No sirree bub. Once she settled down, it was home and hearth all the way. Dinner on the table at six. Kids’ homework done by seven. Bedtime no later than eight. Cuddled up to the hubby by ten. Hmm. Okay. She was getting a bit ahead of herself here.

“So, give him something else to think about.” Lauren waved her fork, then stabbed again at her pizza.

“Yes,” Poe added. “Change his mind.”

“About moving? How am I supposed to do that?” And did she even want to do that?

“Tell him how you feel.” This advice from Sydney.

Good advice if Kinsey had a clue as to how she did feel—besides panicked and sick.

“No.” With a vigorous shake of her head, Lauren shared a kernel of her wisdom. “Show him how you feel.”

Kinsey moved her gaze from one woman to the other to the next. “You’re talking about sex.”

Poe folded her used napkin into a precise square and placed it in the center of her plate. “Aren’t we always talking about sex?”

Feeling suddenly bullied, Kinsey crossed her arms. “You’re only talking about it because you’re not getting any.”

“Is that so?” Poe replied, her dark eyes giving nothing away.

Calm. Calm and collected. Deep breath. In and out. Ohhmmm. Kinsey slumped back in her chair. Her usual ability to relax and blow off stress wasn’t working. She had a feeling nothing was going to work this time.

She hadn’t been looking where she was going and had stepped off into a big pile of emotional poo. Ask her a month ago, and she’d never have believed it possible that what she’d thought was friendship was actually more.

But with the specter of Doug’s departure hanging over her head…

She blew out a frustrated breath. “So, what do I do?”

Sydney looked to Lauren, Lauren to Poe, Poe back to Sydney, then all three turned their attention on Kinsey. Sydney was the one who finally spoke. “I think we need to put a few of the Web site’s gIRL gUIDE tips into play.”

Kinsey closed her eyes, shook her head. This was exactly the reason she kept her private life private. Glancing around at her girlfriends, she said, “I’d really rather not become a gIRL-gEAR project.”

Puffing up her cheeks so she looked like Dizzy Gillespie, Lauren pushed away her plate and scooted her chair back from the table. “Get over it, Kinsey. The rest of us have had to put in time as test cases. It’s what keeps us honest and makes the site’s advice columns such a success. We know of what we speak.”

“Besides,” Sydney said, a teasing smile blossoming as she glanced from Kinsey to Poe. “It’s time for you two holdouts to take the relationship plunge so those of us who have can return the grief you’ve given us now for months.”

“That’s what I’m talking about. I don’t need six hovering fairy godmothers when Doug comes running should I decide to crook my finger.” Now if only her bite lived up to her bark, Kinsey ruefully mused.

Sydney laughed. “C’mon, Kinsey. You know I’m kidding.”

Lauren butted in promptly. “Ha! You’d better be only partially kidding, because I am quite in the mood to return the relationship harassment Kinsey has been so generous in doling out.”

“And what about Poe?” Kinsey was not going to suffer the payback alone. “Ms. Cool-As-An-Asian-Cucumber over there is hardly the picture of innocence.”

Poe’s chin and nose went up. “I certainly hope not. I work hard at my cosmopolitan image.”

“You just wait.” Lauren pointed a finger. “Some guy is going to come along and take you down so hard and fast you won’t have a clue what happened.”

“I welcome the challenge,” Poe said, keeping a straight face as she added, “Many have tried. All have failed. Most have begged for another chance.” Even the hand holding the china cup remained steady, as if serenity were the woman’s middle name.

Kinsey, on the other hand, sputtered the tea she’d been drinking. “Poe, you crack me up. Truly. And manage to make me envious at the same time.” She pressed her lips together in a grimace of sorts. “If I had even a smidge of your confidence, I’d go after Doug in a heartbeat.”

“It’s not about confidence,” Poe said, her fingers now drumming thoughtfully on the arms of her chair. “It’s all about the game. You have to know your opponent’s weaknesses. And then you dig in.”

Pondering that, Kinsey shook her head. “I’m not sure Doug has any weaknesses. But I’ve never thought of him as an opponent.”

“Then you need to change your way of thinking. If he’s standing in the way of something you want, then he’s an adversary. And you have a decision to make.” Poe waited. One heartbeat, two. “How badly do you want it?”

“That’s the thing. I don’t know if a relationship with Doug is what I want.” Kinsey gave a slight shrug. “Maybe I’m overreacting, and once the shock of his moving wears off I’ll be first in line to throw him a bon voyage bash.”

Lauren leaned forward. “Do you want to find out?”

That seemed to be the question of the day, didn’t it? No matter the denial that leaped to the tip of Kinsey’s tongue, her first flustered response to the news of Doug’s move had been too strong to discount as meaningless.

What would it hurt to explore the chemistry they’d largely ignored this past year? As long as she kept her eyes wide open and did nothing as stupid as putting her heart on the line, no harm, no foul, right?

It wasn’t as though she was going to set a trap, then watch him gnaw off his leg trying to escape. If he decided to stay, she didn’t want it to be because she’d crippled him.

“I don’t know. I just don’t know. I like him a lot.” She toyed with the cherry tomato on her plate, stabbing at it with the tines of her fork. “We have loads of fun, and I don’t want to screw that up. I don’t want to lose a good friend because I was desperate and stupid.”

“Then don’t be desperate and stupid,” Lauren said with a shrug, reaching for her diet soda. “Promise yourself you won’t do anything you’ll regret.”

“That sounds all well and good in theory, but in practice?” Kinsey shook her head. “It’s more like I’ll seduce Doug, we’ll get married and have three children, then we’ll turn forty or so and realize we have nothing in common. That’s when the regrets will set in. And divorce and child support. I just can’t deal with it all,” she said, and with one last stab, her tomato went flying.

While Poe rolled her eyes and poured herself another cup of tea from the white ceramic pot she kept at the office, Sydney took the fork out of Kinsey’s hand. “Kinsey? While you’re not being desperate or stupid, why don’t you try not borrowing trouble? You have no idea where you’ll be five years from now, much less fifteen.”

“Where she won’t be is running a five-star kitchen,” Poe said, eyeing the tomato on the floor.

“See?” Kinsey slumped in her chair. “I can’t even manage something as simple as testing the theory that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

“Let me tell you a little secret.” Lauren pulled her chair back up to the table, braced her elbows on the edge and leaned forward. “A man has only one organ he wants taken care of. And it’s neither his heart nor his stomach.”

Sydney nodded. “For the most part, Lauren’s right.”

“I never had any doubt,” Poe added sagely.

“So?” Lauren asked. “Yes or no? Do you want to explore the untapped possibilities between you and Doug?”

With an enthusiasm that continued to grow the longer she considered the question, Kinsey glanced from one woman’s inquiring gaze to the next. “Yeah, I think I do.”

Lauren rubbed her hands together gleefully. “I love the chance to put a plan in motion.”

COLLAPSING ONTO the leather sofa in Anton Neville’s office, Doug Storey stretched out his legs, laced his hands behind his head and gave in to exhaustion.

Who knew flying between Houston and Denver three times in one week could take so much out of a guy?

Either he was getting old or he needed to find more time to work out. Sleep wouldn’t hurt. Whatever. Something had to give before he collapsed like a bad knee.

He had decisions and deals stacked one on top of the next, and needed a working body and a fully functional mind. Right now he felt as if the only thing working was his ability to sit still and not move.

Anton finished his phone call and cradled the receiver, his hand lingering on the phone, his eyes lingering on Doug as if something vital hovered on the tip of his tongue.

Finally, with a shake of his head, Anton walked around to the front of his desk. He dropped into one of the office’s visitor chairs and waited—the way he always waited, sitting and thinking and driving Doug crazy.

Doug had to be on the go all the time, which he was rapidly coming to learn was not as easy to manage when his going was spread from the Gulf Coast to the Rocky Mountains several times a week. He’d be glad to get settled in Denver at last.

“Man, I can’t take much more of this,” he said, shaking his head and stifling another yawn. “If this is what it feels like to be eighty, I’d rather go out in a blaze of glory at thirty-one.”

Anton snorted. “If you’re what blazing looks like, remind me not to light a match.”

Doug rolled his eyes. “What? You’d rather sit behind your desk than burn up the street?”

“No, dude.” Anton leaned back and squared an ankle over the opposite knee. “I’d rather get out of here by seven and take my butt home to Lauren.”

Dragging both hands down his face, Doug grunted. “Damn marital bliss. I remember when I wasn’t the only one around here ordering in pizza and chicken teriyaki. We got a hell of a lot of work done after-hours back then.”

“I still do. It’s just business I don’t want to be taking care of up here. Especially with you for an audience.”

“Your discretion is much appreciated.” Ah, but it felt good to be able to smirk. “I don’t think I could take it, seeing you snowed under by a honey-do list.”

“Oh, yeah. Funny,” Anton said, flipping him off.

“Hey,” Doug said with a slow-rolling shrug and a grin. “I just call ’em like I see ’em.”

“Then you need to clean the dollar signs out of your eyes, because work is making you blind.”

“And here I thought it was all that stroking I’ve been doing on the road.”

“Man, you need help. Hell, you need a woman, at the very least.”

Doug scooted forward to sit on the sofa’s edge, knees spread wide, elbows braced on his thighs. “No woman. Women. Plural. One woman means complications, expectations. And honey-do lists.”

This time it was Anton who smirked. “One woman also makes for a much warmer bed.”

“Except when you’re sleeping on the couch.”

“Whoever’s giving you advice about women is charging way too much.” Anton grunted. “You don’t know jack about what you’re saying.”

“Maybe not. But I know more than jack about what I’m seeing. Especially on the soccer field. You guys who’ve shacked up or gotten your butts married? You suck. Leo can’t defend a goal worth a crap anymore.” Doug liked his life fine just the way it was. He had no plans to put his nuts on the line to be snipped.

Anton didn’t even bother with a comeback. “Speaking of soccer, are you planning to make the scrimmage Sunday night? What with you being eighty and all?”

“Nah. I’m having dinner with Kinsey.” Slumping into the cushions again, Doug grinned and waggled both brows. “She’s cooking.”

Anton did that waiting thing again. Then that smirking thing. “You know Lauren will kick your butt back to the Rockies if you hurt that girl.”

“Screw you, Neville. It’s just dinner.” Though Doug almost had trouble convincing himself that Kinsey didn’t have more on her mind. When he’d picked up his voice mail on the way to the airport earlier today, he’d been surprised to hear her message.

And even more surprised at the invitation.

Her tone and the words she’d chosen made him think she wasn’t just wanting to put food in his stomach. He couldn’t help but remember that breakfast-time kiss they’d shared while vacationing last year on Coconut Caye.

Not to mention the tabletop pole dance he’d watched a very tipsy Kinsey perform, her head thrown back, her blond hair swinging down to the red thong bikini bottom that bared her fantastic ass.

Then there was that night on the veranda when they’d both had too much to drink. A night neither of them had spoken of again. A night he wished he could better recall because he had a feeling he’d forgotten a hell of a lot he needed to know—though the most important part he did remember.

Oh, yeah. He remembered.

He cleared his throat, slumped lower where he sat. “It’s just dinner.”

“You said that already.”

“Well, I’m just making sure you heard me.”

Anton leaned to the side, shifting his weight onto one elbow. “You sure you’re not trying to convince yourself instead?”

“Of what? The fact that Kinsey and I are only friends?” Doug snorted and picked a loose string off the knee of his khaki Dockers. “She knows I don’t want a relationship.”

“Just dinner and…dessert?”

“Dinner.” He shrugged. “Dessert’s up to her.”

“Right. It’s not like you’re on a Kinsey-free diet or anything.”

Doug didn’t say anything because he didn’t know what to say. He liked Kinsey a lot. If he’d been the type to settle down with one woman, she’d be there at the top of his list. Correction. She’d be his list. But he just didn’t see himself ever giving up the freedom that let him live his life without baggage or…honey-do lists.

“Does she know about Denver?” Anton asked.

Doug shook his head. “Dunno. I plan to tell her Sunday night.”

“And then what?”

“What do you mean, and then what? Then I go home and sleep for six hours or so, get up and pack.” That was the routine he’d settled into of late. “I’m flying out again first thing Monday morning.”

Anton narrowed his eyes. “You’re going to have to decide about Reuben buying you out, you know. Especially considering how he bailed you out with Media West this afternoon. We can’t afford to screw up this remodeling job.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Doug hated that his late flight had cost him the Media West meeting, hated even more that he would’ve been on time if he hadn’t rescheduled to make one more contact in Denver. A contact that had been a big waste of time.

“Hey. Don’t blow this off,” Anton barked. “You’re lucky Reuben runs with Marcus West’s boys or you’d be eating crow for a very long time to come.”

“As a matter of fact, Reuben and I have tickets to tomorrow night’s Rockets game. A few beers and it’ll all be good.” This decision was the hardest one Doug faced. Not the beer or the basketball, but the firm. He was no closer to making a decision tonight than he had been a month ago.

He and Anton had made their original Neville and Storey plans while at the University of Houston’s College of Architecture, nearly ten years back. The move to Denver felt like an upward move on the career ladder. Doug had been wooed by the biggest boys on the block, and that was something that came along only once in a lifetime.

It was just that selling his share of their architectural firm made him feel as if he were giving up on a dream, as well as selling out and betraying his very best friend. He’d thought the change would bring a sense of calm to his restlessness of late. He’d been wrong.

And that was what was keeping him from signing on the Denver group’s bottom line.

“You’ve got time,” Anton said, pensively studying the leather arm of his chair. “And I’d rather you take it than do the wrong thing.” He pushed to his feet then, shaking off what seemed to be a remnant melancholy. “Now, me? My time’s up. Lauren’s waiting.”

Doug slapped his palms to his thighs and forced himself to follow. “Yeah, I’ve got to get going. I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me.”

“And all I’ve got is a honey to do.”

“POE, I THINK you’re the only one here who doesn’t know Isabel Leighton, a friend from further back than I care to admit. Izzy, this is Annabel Lee, known fondly around the office as Poe.” Sydney made the only introduction necessary, then turned and gave Kinsey a grin of devious proportions. “Kinsey, who everyone knows, is the reason we’re here.”

Where they were was in the kitchen of the suburban home Sydney shared with Ray Coffey. Sydney, Lauren, Izzy and Poe had all come to help Kinsey put together a meal guaranteed to make Doug weep. And weep in a good way, not because her cooking sucked. Since her woefully understocked kitchen sucked, as well, Sydney’s state-of-the-art setup made for a much better classroom.

It was definitely good to see Izzy again. Though Kinsey had lost touch with the other woman once both were busy in school, the two of them had been fast friends as young girls. They’d spent hours running wild at Kinsey’s parents’ home where, for almost twenty years now, Izzy’s uncle Leonard had worked magic with the Grays’ lawn and tropical garden.

“You know this is hopeless, don’t you?” Kinsey really wanted to smack whoever had started the rumor that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. “I burn microwave popcorn. I add too much water to packets of instant cocoa. Carryout was invented for a reason, hello. Doug is not going to want to eat anything that comes out of my kitchen.”

“It won’t be coming out of your kitchen.” Lauren climbed onto the bar stool behind the cooking island. “It’ll be coming out of Sydney’s.”

“With too many cooks spoiling the broth, it looks like,” Kinsey grumbled, glancing at the latest batch of hovering fairy godmothers. Calm. Collected. Ohhmmm. Why had she let herself be talked into such a ridiculous idea?

Now it was too late to back out.

She’d canceled the regular Sunday morning breakfast she shared with her parents to get in this quick cooking lesson before tonight’s date. She’d left Doug a message Friday afternoon after the infamous planning luncheon; he’d left her one last night on his way to a basketball game.

But a phone tag relationship was not what she’d been hoping to explore.

“So, what’s on the menu?” Wearing a royal-blue headband to hold back her short chunky dreadlocks bronzed with highlights, Izzy pulled open the refrigerator door and peered inside. “And do not tell me you’re thinking to fix up anything low or reduced or light. You will not win a man with a woman’s diet. Just ask my Gramma Fred. A man’s hunger has to be fed and fed right.”

Sitting beside Poe on a third bar stool, Kinsey buried her face in her hands. “Why do I sense a disaster rather than a home-cooked meal in the making?”

“Have a little faith here, Kinsey.” Sydney joined Izzy at the refrigerator’s open door. “You know full well Izzy grew up in her grandmother’s restaurant. And Ray hasn’t exactly wasted away since I’ve taken over the cooking, though Patrick’s been doing a lot of it since he’s been home.”

Kinsey sighed, then glanced over at Poe, who shrugged and said, “I’m only here for the show.”

One less pair of hands in the mix, anyway. And since Kinsey planned to do nothing but take notes…“Okay, then. Where do we start?”

“Hmm.” Sydney examined the labels on several packages of butcher-wrapped meat. “I bought pork and lamb and chicken and beef. Whatever you don’t use for Doug, I’ll freeze for Ray. I guess the first thing is to decide what you’re in the mood for, since you’ll be eating it, too.”

“If I’m supposed to eat my own cooking, then the deciding factor is what’s the easiest to fix and the hardest to screw up?” Sad, but true.

“No. The deciding factor is what you want your cooking to say.” At the sound of Patrick Coffey’s voice, five pairs of female eyes turned toward the doorway where he stood.

His hands hooked into the frame overhead, he leaned forward, his long, lanky body covered by nothing but a pair of low-rise jeans and a ribbed white tank-style T-shirt that showed off an intricately woven tattoo ringing the bulge of his right biceps.

His hair hung in dark twisted strands to his shoulders, hiding much of his face in the shadows. At least until he pushed away from the door frame and entered the room, raking all that hair back into a ponytail he secured haphazardly with a thick red rubber band.

Kinsey released the breath she’d been holding, heard Poe do the same at her side. Having seen him off and on now for over a year, Kinsey still remained clueless how the man managed to inspire equal parts lust and trepidation. But he did.

She supposed it was a normal reaction to his circumstances. After all, how many guys returned home after being held hostage for three years by Caribbean pirates?

Naturally, her heart pitter-pattered in a fan-to-movie-star response—one no more meaningful than the patter inspired by Brad Pitt, or the pitter brought on by George Clooney.

Now the trepidation…that part was real. That pirate thing was too bizarre to let go.

Totally unaffected by Patrick’s arrival, Sydney moved away from the refrigerator with a chicken in her hand. She tossed it to Patrick, who caught it without even looking her way.

“Believe it or not, ladies,” Sydney began, “here is the member of the Coffey household best suited to showing Kinsey how to turn a meal into magic.”