Author: Kristan Higgins

“I’m guessing you wouldn’t be broke if it was that easy,” Posey said.

Gretchen ignored her. “One time, Pose, I won seven thousand dollars in one night.”

“How long did it take you to lose it?”

Slowly, Gretchen seemed to come back to earth. “That’s the thing,” she admitted. “You get hooked. You lose six rounds, then you win one and you think ‘Oh, I’m on a roll now, I’ll get it back,’ and then even if you do, you can’t help wanting more.”

Sensing that someone needed a kiss, Shilo rolled off the couch and went over to Gret and licked her knee. For once, she didn’t push his big head out of the way, just reached out and gave him an awkward pat. Jellybean, disgusted that Gretchen’s attention had gone to a lowly canine, jumped off the couch and stalked away.

“I didn’t quit the Cooking Network,” Gretchen said, so quietly Posey almost couldn’t hear. “They fired me. I’d borrowed money from a not-very-nice person, and when I couldn’t pay it, he went to the network and said he’d make it public. So they paid it, but they fired me.”

“How much was it?” Posey asked.

“Twenty-five thousand.”

“Oh, Gret.” Posey closed her eyes. “I’m so sorry.” That dopey show had been everything to her cousin.

“Don’t be sorry,” she said, a hard edge to her voice. “They didn’t know anything. Marketing practically ignored me. I was, like, how am I going to get a million viewers an episode if you put me in this slot? Against Rachael Ray, who gets everything handed to her on a silver platter? And who’s gained fifteen pounds this year alone? Don’t get me started on that scrawny tramp, Giada.”

“Okay, let’s just skip over all of the glaring hyperbole and let me ask you this,” Posey said. “Gret, if your whole life has collapsed because of a gambling problem, why were you at the casino tonight?”

“Because! You think I like living here with you in this freezing-cold house? Listening to Max and Stacia tell me—me!—how to make a linzer torte?”

“Whoa! Stop right there, princess! I don’t recall inviting you here, and as for my parents, you should be kissing their feet and scrubbing their toilets. So don’t go there, okay?”

Gretchen looked at her hands. “I just want to get my life back in gear,” she said in a quieter voice. “I thought if I could win a few thousand dollars, I could…start over.”

“Where’d you get the money to gamble?”

Gretchen didn’t answer for a minute. “From your parents. From what they gave me for the renovation.”

“Gret! You can’t do that!”

“Well, I did! It was stupid, but you don’t understand!”

“How much did you take?”

“Two grand.”

Posey took a deep breath, held it, then exhaled slowly. “Okay. I’ll pay that back, too. But here’s the deal. You’re going to pay me back. All five thousand, because guess what? You cleaned me out, Gret. I’m not rich, you know.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell.” She cocked a perfect eyebrow.

“And guess what else, Fraulein? You can start by helping out around here. Painting, window glazing, moving some of this stuff…”

“I don’t know how to paint. Or glaze a window.”

“Well, how about this, Gretchen? You can learn.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

SIX TWENTY-THREE on Wednesday night of a long weekend. He could work. Or eat. He could make dinner, then eat, then work. Also, maybe watch some television.

Nicole was at yet another sleepover, as school was closed tomorrow for a teacher-development thing, then on Friday as well for Founders’ Day Weekend. It was her third sleepover since they’d moved. This was either good, in that she was making friends, or very bad, in that she might at this very moment be guzzling vodka and doing Ecstasy with a bunch of boys, after which they’d get in a car and all end up dead.

Granted, he’d dropped her off twenty minutes ago, spoken to both Emily and Chris Carlisle at length, ensuring that both parents would be home all night. They seemed perfectly responsible, but still. He’d left his phone number (home and cell), and his address, just in case. Nicole had given him the Slitty Eyes of Death, followed by a hard elbow to the ribs, which still hurt a little, thanks to Cordelia Osterhagen trying to kill him.

And by the way, that whole hospital aftermath…that was oddly vague. The pain meds had knocked him flat, but there was something he should remember there. He and Cordelia had bickered at the hospital, he remembered that. She drove him home with the giant dog…but something else had been flitting at the edge of his brain for days now. Irritating.

Well, at any rate, Nicole had promised to text him at nine and eleven and call in the morning, then threatened suicide if he dared to call the Carlisles to check up on her. “Bye!” she said. “Have fun! Get out of the apartment, okay? You’re not dead yet.”

So here he was. In the apartment. Home alone, a widower picturing his child’s misdeeds…not so much fun. Work held no appeal; he’d just come from there to take Nicole to the party. No. He should get out of the house, be with other people. Life was changing, and Nic was right. He wasn’t dead. Not yet. He picked up the paper and got lucky.

A little while later, Liam pulled up in front of the adult education building. The ad had said walk-ins were welcome, so here he was. Granted, learning to design a website wasn’t high on Liam’s list of priorities, but he guessed the garage wouldn’t hurt by having an Internet presence. Besides, it sure as hell beat out singles cooking or, God forbid, ballroom dancing.

Speaking of, there were the dancers. And oh, crap, there was Taylor Bennington of the talented teeth. Her face lit up at the sight of him, and Liam gave a terse nod, then continued down the hallway.

The smell of garlic slowed him down. A chorus of laughter came from that room, and Liam glanced in. People were paired together, chopping and tasting, and the smell was fantastic.

Cordelia Osterhagen was in there, opening her mouth for a spoonful of whatever her partner—a man—was feeding her, and Liam had an abrupt flash of Cordelia over him, and he could practically feel her mouth on his, that lush, beautiful mouth—

“Hi there.”

Liam jumped. A man in his thirties stood in front of him. “I’m Jonathan White, your daughter’s home-ec teacher? We met the other night at Rosebud’s.”

Liam nodded, offering his hand. “Nice to see you again.” This guy was related to Cordelia somehow, he remembered.

“Nicole is such a great kid. I wish I had twenty of her. You hungry? Want to join us?”

“I’m starving, actually.”

“Come on,” the teacher said, smiling. “We eat at the end of the class. If Posey doesn’t cut off someone’s finger, that is.”

“I wish I could take credit for that,” Cordelia said, turning. “But it was just luck.” Her smile fell as she saw Liam, and her face flushed. “Oh. Hi.”

“Hey,” Liam said. Oh, yeah. There was something about that mouth, all right.

“Gang, this is Liam, the dad of one of my students. You don’t mind if he hangs out, do you? We always have too much food as it is.”

“Hi, Liam!” Kate Ellington called, and Liam gave her a smile. She was with an older man who couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her rack, not that Liam could blame him. It was nice there.

“Let’s put you with Ginny, shall we?” Jon said, leading Liam over to a woman in her fifties.

“Oh, wow, thank you, Jon, I owe you,” she blurted.

“Hi. Liam Murphy,” he said, shaking her hand.

“Wow,” she repeated. She wiped her hands on her T-shirt, which showed the werewolf kid from the vampire movies. Team Jacob, the shirt proclaimed. “I’m Ginny. Hi. Yeah. You are gorgeous.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said, grinning. They were next to Cordelia, who was studiously ignoring him, and her partner, a rather odd-looking man wearing a fur hat with earflaps.

“My ribs are doing just fine, thanks for asking,” Liam said to her.

“Of all the cooking classes in all the world, you had to walk into mine,” Cordelia muttered.

For the next half-hour, Liam flirted with Ginny, who was full of sighs and giggles. The class was actually kind of fun…they were making a Bolognese sauce, and the smell was thick and spicy. Liam was a pretty fair cook himself, but it was nice, being out with grownups. People joked and laughed and swapped insults. Everyone except Cordelia, Liam noticed, who seemed awfully quiet. When they all sat down to eat, pushing two tables together, Liam made sure he was across from her.

“I’d think you were already a pretty good cook,” he said, taking a bite of the pasta.

His foot touched hers accidentally, but she jumped as if he’d slugged her. “Excuse me?”

“Since your parents own a restaurant,” he said. Granted, people didn’t really go to Guten Tag for the food, but still.

“Um, right. I cook a little.” She didn’t look at him, and Liam smiled.

“She’s lying,” the teacher said, coming over and putting his arm around her. “She’s my sister-in-law, and even though I’ve been with her brother since the dawn of time, I can say that Posey here has never made me anything more than a Newman’s Own pizza.”

“Which was excellent,” she retorted.

“Well, I’m sure she has other skills,” Liam murmured, and bam, her cheeks went nuclear. She shoveled in a bite of pasta and chewed, still not looking at him. She wore two flannel shirts, but both were unbuttoned a few, and Liam could see a little camisole thing underneath it. Girl clothes, in other words, and Liam had the sudden urge to peel off those layers of flannel and see what lay beneath.

Well, well, well. Granted, it had been a while, but here he was, picturing Cordelia naked. Might be a nice little package under there. Compact. Petite. The word spitfire came pleasingly to mind. As if reading his thoughts, Cordelia laced her hands together and stretched out her arms, cracking her knuckles and staring at him with narrowed eyes. The Slitty Eyes of Death, Osterhagen-style. Liam grinned at her and took another bite of the spaghetti Bolognese.

“It sure has been nice meeting you,” Ginny said, and Liam stood up.

“Same here,” he said and kissed her on the cheek. “I had a great time.”

“I’m going to relive that for quite some time,” she said, and he laughed and kissed her again, then took his seat once more.

Most of the people were trailing out, he noticed. Jon was leaning in the doorway, laughing with a student. Only Cordelia and he were still eating—she might pretend not to notice him, but here she was—and Liam realized he really didn’t want to go home just yet.

“Do you have plans tonight?” he asked.

“N— Um, yes.”

“No, you don’t.”

She narrowed her eyes again—pretty eyes, now that he noticed. Brown. He’d always liked brown eyes. “What makes you so sure I don’t have plans, Liam?”

“Do you?”

Another blush. “Jon, we’re having drinks tonight, right? At Rosebud’s?”

Jon paused, his eyes going from Posey’s face to Liam’s. “Uh…yes?”

“Mind if I tag along?” Liam asked.

“I… Posey?”

She set down her fork and glared up at him. “Okay, Liam, fine. I don’t have plans other than going home and watching a movie with my dog and cats. Okay? Happy now?”

Liam cocked his head and studied her face. “Are you mad at me?”

“Nope.”

“You seem mad.”