She nodded as if she understood everything he wasn’t saying and slipped the card beneath her phone. He pulled a couple of twenties from his wallet.
“Thanks, Bree,” he said, but she scowled.
“Put that away.”
“I said—”
“I know what you said.” She leaned forward, lowering her voice so he was forced to lean closer to hear her words. “Believe me, I have absolutely no tolerance for men who throw away what they’ve been given.”
Whoa.
His first thought was to wonder if she was talking about him or her father. Though given that she was helping him, he suspected this meant that everything he’d heard about Bree’s feelings for Rob were true.
His second thought was that her mouth was even more enticing up close.
His third was that he’d better get the hell out of there before his luck ran out.
“Thanks again.” He slipped out of the booth.
“My pleasure.”
“See you at the next meeting.”
“Right. I’ll keep you posted.”
He nodded and hurried away, keeping his head down to avoid being spotted by Carl. It wasn’t until he was in his truck and halfway to the school that he admitted that he wasn’t sure which he should be more thankful for: that he had made it out without Carl seeing him, or that he had made it out without leaning farther across the table and closer to Bree.
* * *
A few nights later, Annie showed up at Bree’s door with brown paper bags covered in grease splotches. Since that was Bree’s favorite kind of container, she opened the door wider even though these visits usually meant Annie needed to pick Bree’s mind about one of her day care kiddos.
Not that Bree cared. She would gladly have advised Annie without bribes, especially since her job usually consisted of listening and nodding as her sister laid out the problem and then talked herself into a better solution than Bree could ever have found. But if Annie wanted to pay her in burrito bowls, Bree wasn’t going to turn her down.
“Hi.” Annie set the bag on the counter while dropping into a kitchen chair—an action made possible by the fact that Bree’s kitchen was approximately the size of a Volkswagen’s interior. “I’m starving. There was a biting epidemic in the toddler room today and I never got lunch. Find us some forks, fast, and if you have a cold beer in the fridge, I’ll love you forever.”
Bree opened the fridge and pulled out two bottles. “You already love me forever from the last time you came over, when we hashed out the issues with little Justin not walking yet. How is he doing, by the way?”
“Pulling himself up and cruising the furniture. Still not where I’d like him to be at this age, but I’ll give him a couple more weeks. He might be one of those who soaks up the information first and then seems to master the skill overnight.” She hoisted her beer. “Cheers.”
Bree followed suit before reaching for cutlery. As she placed it on the table, she felt duty bound to mention: “Um, by the way, not that I don’t appreciate the food, but I don’t have a lot of insights to offer when it comes to biting. So if you were planning to talk about that . . .” She blew out so as not to further drown in the scent of carnitas. At least, not until she knew if she would be able to make any kind of contribution, needed or not.
“What? Oh. No.” Annie waved away Bree’s words and ripped open the first bag. “Don’t worry. I have that under control. Extra time at the sensory table, keep the instigator practically attached to the teacher’s hip, and give the kids lots of chances to make their own choices and feel powerful. No one in the world is as power-hungry as an eighteen-month-old.”
Bree’s early warning system began to tingle. Annie never showed up without an agenda.
And, because sisters didn’t always need words to communicate, Annie picked up on her suspicion.
“All right.” She sighed and stared at the table. “I saw our father the other day.”
From the carefully casual tone Annie was using, it was obvious that it hadn’t been a pleasant interaction.
“How bad was it?”
“Why?”
“Because I want to know if it’s going to make me hurl.” Bree nodded toward the bag in front of her. “I don’t want to waste any of that yumminess.”
“Oh. No, go ahead. You can eat it.”
Still cautious, Bree opened her bag and pulled containers from the depths. Extra lime. Extra salsa. Extra chips.
Extra wary.
“Okay, Anniekins. Give it to me straight.” Bree stared wistfully at the spread. “What did Daddy Dump Truck do?”
“Why do you call him that?”
“Because every time he waltzes into our lives, he dumps a load of crap on us. I’m betting this wasn’t the exception.”
“No. It really wasn’t bad. He just . . .” Annie sighed and peeled back the lid on her bowl. “He wants to see you, Bree.”
“No.”
“I told him that. He said—”
“I don’t care what he said.” Bree stabbed the air with her fork as she spoke. “I understand why you have your lunch dates with him, okay? It’s perfectly natural to want to know the man who contributed to half your DNA, even if he did see fit to hightail it out of the country before you were born. It’s your right to meet him, and I say go for it.”
“Jenna is talking to him now, too.” Annie added salsa to her bowl, seemingly unbothered by the way her quiet words were like hammers smashing into Bree’s orderly world. “Not a lot. I think her last decree was that she would have lunch with him every other month. And she makes it really public, so no one can say that she’s trying to hide anything. You know, what with her being engaged to the mayor, and Dad being a disgraced—”
“Scumball,” Bree said before Annie could get out the politician that Bree was sure had been planned. Then, because she couldn’t stop herself, she said, “But the twins aren’t cozying up to him. Right? I know Kyrie e-mails him once in a while, but Paige—”
“Paige saw him when she was home.”
Bree felt like someone had snuck up behind her and goosed her. “She didn’t tell me she was going to do that. I mean, not that she has to, but you know, we did her interview and—”
“I don’t think it was planned. But I have a feeling that the interview got her wondering.” Annie crumbled chips into her bowl. “Don’t tell Mom, okay? But Paige lied about the time of her flight and had Mom drop her off an hour early. Then she used that time to talk to Dad.”
“In person?”
“Yep. She told me she figured that was the best possible escape clause that she could think of. Other than, you know, going into labor or something.”
“Do you know how it went?”
“She said it was easier than she expected. She’s not in any hurry to repeat it, but she said it was like having a tooth filled—once it was over, she was glad she did it.”
“Did any of the brides put him on their guest list?”
“Not that I know of. But I wouldn’t be surprised if he ends up slipping into the back of the church for the ceremony, like he did for Cole’s inauguration.”
Good Lord. How many bombshells was Annie planning to drop?
“Wait. What? Rob was there?”
“You didn’t know?” Annie speared a hunk of chicken. “Of course, knowing you, you probably had visions of cheese puffs dancing in your head.”
How had Bree missed that? She thought she’d been pretty on the ball that day. Of course, she had been seated in the front row . . . and she had just learned that Spence was going to be on the task force . . .
Damn it. She should never have let her attention be hijacked, and most certainly not by Spence.
Not that he was as Neanderthal as she’d thought, really. The other night, when he took refuge at her table, he had been remarkably human. Bree felt bad for Spence’s si
ster—she hadn’t been kidding when she’d said she had no use for men who threw their families away—but it had been . . . um . . . interesting to see this side of Spence. The tough-guy-former-dealer seemed very protective of his sister.
Bree couldn’t help but admire that.
She pulled her bowl close and dug in. “Okay. You said your piece. Now I would like to enjoy this before it gets cold, so let’s talk about something else. Like . . .” She decided to risk it. “Did I tell you I had my first meeting of the task force?”
“With Spencer James?” Annie’s eyes sparkled. For a moment Bree was back in the days when Annie was a tiny person with a giant thirst for insights into her sisters’ worlds. She would never forget the day she had to teach Annie how to put on makeup. Which really should have been Jenna’s job. But in those days Jen had undoubtedly been too busy having her carefully-applied lipstick smeared by her boyfriend of the month to have time left to pass her knowledge on to someone else.
“Indeed,” Bree said, suddenly feeling old and nostalgic.
“And you’re still alive?”
“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because he’s never struck me as the kind to accept an apology lying down, you know? More like, he’d make you say you were sorry, then he’d find a way to make you do the same thing all over again. Deliberately. Just so you would have to apologize again.”
“Shouldn’t you sound a little less overjoyed at that thought?”
“Well, you know, badassery in action is a pretty fine thing to see.”
“Badass?” Bree bit back a laugh. “Spence?”
“I admit, it’s hard to equate the term with someone named Spencer. But yeah. He doesn’t care what other people think, he doesn’t apologize, he doesn’t follow the crowd. In my book, that qualifies.”
“And when did you switch from nonfiction to fantasy, Annie Belle? Because I promise you, he is none of those things you just mentioned.”
“He most certainly is. Plus he’s kind of hot. You know how Harrison Ford and Sam Elliott still have it even though they’re, like, geriatric? Same thing with Spence.”
“Who, I might remind you, is my age.” Though she had to admit he carried it well. Maybe he spent more time outdoors than she did, but there was a rugged edge to his face that added—well—interest. “Maybe even a couple of months younger.”
If she’d expected Annie to be embarrassed, she should have known better. “What can I say? You’ll always be my oldest sister.”
“I’m also the sister who acts as your consultant when needed. A little more respect might be in order.”
“I take it back. It’s not just that you’re my oldest sister”—Annie scooped up guacamole with her finger—“you’re also the bossiest.”
“If you expect me to be stunned and hurt by that statement, sorry.”
“You know, I bet that’s why you don’t want to talk to Dad.” Annie licked the guac from her finger. “You can’t boss him around.”
And when had Chipotle started spiking their condiments?
“That is the most ludicrous idea I’ve heard in forever.”
“Is it, Bree?” Annie sat back and reached for her napkin. “You’re right. We’re each allowed to make our own choices about how much we want him in our lives. So far, most people are opting for keeping him on the fringe, and that strikes me as being incredibly reasonable, given everything. But you . . .” Annie’s head tilted slightly, as if her thoughts were too weighty to stay in balance. “You’re too much like him. You both look at a situation and decide how to handle it, and then God help the bastard who tries to make you change your mind, because it just doesn’t happen. You’re both pigheaded, Margie would say.”
“If by ‘pigheaded’ you mean determined and focused, I’ll take it,” Bree said quietly. “But I think that Rob might give other meanings to the word.”
“Yeah, why am I not surprised that you would look at it that way?”
Bree breathed in deeply. “Okay, Annie. Tell me this. Why do you talk to him?”
“Exactly why you said. I’m curious. I never knew him and I figure this is something I should know.”
“Sounds good to me. But I’m not curious. I know exactly what he’s like and who he is. I remember how he used to be, and the things he used to say and do. And I know they’re all lies. So tell me again why I should want to see him?”
“Because you’re scared.”
With that one, Bree felt her jaw hit the floor.
“I am so not afraid of Robert Elias.”
Annie snickered. “I never said that you were afraid of him.”
Bree’s stomach clenched. “Then what exactly did you mean?”
Annie sat back and narrowed her eyes at Bree. “You’re afraid, all right. But if you don’t know what you’re afraid of, I’m not telling. This is something you’ll have to figure out for yourself.” She broke into her usual grin. “But boy howdy, Bree, let me tell you this. I can’t wait to see the look on your face when you figure out what’s up with you and Dad.”
Chapter Four
On a Sunday afternoon three weeks after the task force’s first meeting, Spence found himself at Calypso Falls’s busiest grocery store, sitting at a table in the produce section, setting out the brochures and signs that Alice had created for the public awareness sessions. His job was to sit here for an hour and convince shoppers that they should sign the sheets indicating their support for the garden.
Not a bad way to pass the time, all in all. But he wondered if the weekend had been the best choice. The aisles were crowded and folks were a little frenzied. This might not be the time when most people would want to linger at the table blocking access to the green beans and broccoli.
Or maybe his uncertainty was due to the fact that he was going to have to spend the next two hours with Bree.
Okay, she’d been a lifesaver the night of the orchestra concert. And true to her word, she’d sent him a text telling him when Carl had left, as solo as he’d eaten. All in all, Bree had come through when he needed it. He appreciated that.
It also made his inner adolescent squirm. Because he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to deal with her anymore. School rivals, he knew. Pissed-off woman who had given him hell, he could deal with. Daughter of his mortal enemy? No problem.
But someone who had helped him . . . someone who had offered support without ever once asking for details or mouthing platitudes . . . someone who had smiled at him in a way that had him chasing really idiotic thoughts out of his brain . . . this Bree was a problem.
A problem that was currently striding across the produce section toward him.
“Hi.” Bree didn’t meet his gaze as she swung her bag onto the end of the table. It landed with a thud that made him fear for the wooden surface.
“Whoa. What have you got in there? Bricks?”
“Severed heads, actually.” She frowned. “I guess rigor must have set in faster than I anticipated.”
He burst into laughter that was as welcome as it was unexpected.
“Rough morning?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Not as bad for me as it was for them.” She nodded toward the bag, which had gaped open an inch or two at the top. He didn’t even bother to disguise his actions as he pulled back the fabric.
“Hey!” she said. “What are you doing?”
“Checking to see if I need to call the cops.” He caught a glimpse of something that looked like an intense textbook, shuddered, and backed away. “Anticipating a slow afternoon?”
“Better to be prepared, and all that.”
Huh. Looked like she was just as eager to talk to him as he was to talk to her.
Okay. That made things easier. No chitchat needed, no worries about awkward pauses.
Still, he couldn’t help but feel he’d been dismissed.
He finished laying out the materials Alice had provided, then walked to the citrus fruit display a few feet away and surveyed the setup through a critical eye. Bree’s forehead crinkled.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to figure out if this is appealing enough to draw people to us.”
He glanced around the low tables and heaped bins of the produce section, where people seemed far more interested in apples and bananas than in pictures and papers.
“Well?” she asked when he returned to the table. “What’s the verdict?”
Truthfully, he was afraid this was going to be the longest damned two hours of the week. But he wasn’t going to say that out loud.
“The verdict is, we need to jazz this up.”
Bree’s eyebrows soared. “Do I dare ask?”
He stood and looked around the area. “We could move down a bit so we’re in front of the bagged salads. That way all the New Year’s resolution people would have to come near us.”
“Too late,” she said. “It’s already February. The bulk of the resolutions were abandoned at least two weeks ago.”
He remembered back to her decrees about eldest children. “Is this another of those facts you’re making up to sound smart?”
“I don’t need to make up facts to sound smart, thank you very much. But no. This is truth.” She frowned and spread her hands on the blank spaces of white tablecloth that weren’t covered by their materials. “But you have a point. We need something more eye-catching. I thought Alice was going to have a banner to hang in front of the table.”
“She was. She told me there was a problem with the printing. It won’t be ready for another week.”
“I could buy a couple of balloons,” Bree said.
Not a bad idea . . . but as he scanned the area in front of them, he decided on another approach.
“Wait here.” He hightailed it through the fruits and vegetables to the florist section by the entry, where he grabbed a cart and loaded it with the biggest indoor plants on display.
“What is this?” Bree asked as he wheeled back to their table.
“This is an Arlacuriae heterophylla, more commonly known as a Norfolk island pine. Probably left over from before Christmas.” He set it by the front corner of their table. “This is a Ficus benjamina.” Into the opposite corner it went. “And this is a Meyer lemon, just entering the fruit-set stage.” That one he centered behind their chairs. “And there you go. We’re not just talking about an urban forest anymore. We’re living in one.”
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