Page 114 of Famous for a Living

So this is why they’re always dragging on Wednesdays.

“That was . . .”

We’re standing beneath the glowing porch light of my cabin. He’s straddling the hole in the porch we all take for granted now. Me opposite. It’s freezing (when is it ever not?), and like a moth attracted to the flaming heat, I find I’m standing closer to him than the average person would were they not kissing.

Which is what we’re not doing.

Kissing.

Which, quite frankly, is the only thing wrong with the moment.

“I’d invite you in for a nightcap, but given you’ve plied me with coffee the past six hours and I have to be up in four . . .”

I’m whispering. The inside lights are out, and given Mina’s performance when we left on our date, I have little doubt she has some theatrics planned for our return.

“That’s probably a good call.” His voice is husky as he whispers back. “I hear your boss is a real stickler for timeliness.”

We both grin at each other. Me, because I can still picture Uncle Terry up at the cabin, surrounded by his hoard of chips. Him? Well, I suppose he’s just grinning at me.

Which he’s done just about all evening.

“Thank you for inviting me into your super-secret club,” I whisper.

“Super-secret society,” he counters. “Club just sounds juvenile. And you’re welcome. I hope you realize you’ve been inducted into a lifelong membership. Hope you don’t carry commitment issues.”

I whisper-laugh, which sounds a little more like a horse neighing than I would’ve liked. All the same, he takes a tiny step forward, closing the gap between us. Our breath mingles and hovers in the air, drifting toward the porch light. Somewhere in the distance an owl gives a weary hoot, its shift nearly done for the night.

I realize the moment has finally come, and I am more than ready.

My fingers tingle, not because they want to draw near to a phone (which, admittedly, they sort of do, just to call Serena and unleash an eruption of words about this evening), and not just because they are halfway frozen (which they are, but I’ve come to the point where that’s a given), but because they are hoping, waiting, inching forward to grab hold of his jacket and pull him toward me.

Oh, the things I’ll be telling Serena about this night.

The things I can’t wait to say.

And then, there is Serena.

In an enormously oversized truck roaring up the driveway and spewing gravel as she comes to a hasty stop.

There she is, throwing open the door of the poorly parked vehicle still halfway in the road, wedging herself out of the truck in a massive puffy coat twice her size. Only her petite, heart-shaped face is visible around the marshmallow puff encompassing her body. That, and her heels.

“Oh good, Cat,” she says, stumbling out of the mammoth truck. “You’re up.”

Chapter 17

The Best Friend

“Serena?” I step toward her in a daze.

This isn’t because I’ve missed her calls today?

Surely . . . surely that’s not possible.

She wouldn’t . . . couldn’t.

But that would be crazy.

I give her marshmallow-white coat a hug, never actually feeling anything besides the insulation around her, and step back.