Page 230 of A Matter of Time

“Yes, you will,” he said from behind me as I walked away.

As I was pulling out of the parking lot, I saw Sam getting into an SUV with blacked-out windows that was even bigger than his old one, close to the size of the Ford Excursion Dylan’s father drove. I stopped and called over to him. When he turned, I smiled wide. I just couldn’t resist.

“Is it big enough, Detective?” I teased him.

The smile I got in return was the same crooked one I remembered. “No.”

I nodded as I flipped on my radio and Fontella Bass came screaming out. “Did your mom tell you about her job?” I yelled over the music at him.

“Her what?”

I waved at him before I pulled out into the street and drove away.

Hours later, I told Dylan all about seeing Sam and my date the following night with Brandon Rossi. She pretended to go into labor, which scared the hell out of both her husband and me. It was just plain evil. I was still harping on her about it as we walked into work together the next morning.

“I could do it again.” She waggled her finger at me. “So don’t push me, J.”

“Do what again?” Sadie Jackson asked me as she strolled into our office with two coffee cups.

I loved our perky little receptionist from Kenosha, Wisconsin. She was funny and smart and had a scathing sense of humor that matched Dylan’s perfectly.

“She pretended to go into labor again,” I told her.

“Why?” She looked at Dylan. “Did the bakery only have one chocolate chip muffin?”

“Oh, for crissakes,” she snapped at us. “Fake your water breaking one time and you’re branded for life.”

We both laughed at her.

“Oh no,” Sadie moaned suddenly, walking over to me. “What did you do to your beautiful hair?” she asked me as her fingers slid through it.

“I got—” I stopped and looked at Dylan. “What color is it again? Baby’s Breath Blue?”

“Yeah.”

I looked back at Sadie. “I got Baby’s Breath Blue in it. I had to do the ceiling of the nursery. Chris screwed up the corners.”

“I see.” She smiled at me, and there was something different about the way she did it, almost loving. Dylan’s sigh brought me back to her.

“What?” I asked her.

“Nothing.” She smiled before she sighed deeply again, looking at me. They were both being so weird.

“What?”

“I said nothing,” Dylan snapped at me. “Let’s look at the proofs we did for Trotter.”

We spent most of the morning going over current accounts, and then our work ethic dissolved into office-chair races by ten. We took a cab to meet a new client for lunch, and on the way back Brandon called me. I told him I had been getting worried that he was blowing me off.

“No, Jory,” he murmured into the phone. “That will never happen.”

“You are very good for my ego, Mr. Rossi.”

“I’m going to be good for you, period,” he said flatly. “How about Brava at seven?”

“That sounds great. I’ll meet ya there.”

“Okay.” Long exhale. “See ya there.”