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“Then he wouldn’t be grouchy at you leaving,” Kayla responds reasonably. But it’s not helping my nerves.
“What time is it?”
“8:15,” Kayla responds dryly. “Five minutes later than the last time you asked.”
“Sorry,” I blow out a breath. “Is Jed pissed that you’re here instead of there right now?”
Kayla shakes her head slowly, her eyes twinkling. “I promised to make it up to him in the morning and to call when I get here, when I leave, and if I’m delayed at a red light for more than two seconds,” she adds dryly.
“Overprotective much?” I ask, grinning.
“So is Lance. Have you seen him with his sister? He’s only going to be ten times worse with a wife. It’s not control, exactly. At least not with Jed. It’s more compensation for knowing he doesn’t have control over the world. For someone like me that didn’t have any of that growing up, well, I focus on knowing that it means he cares. And then I hit him upside the head with a pillow.”
“And he lets you?” I ask in astonishment. I’m having trouble picturing big stern Colonel Hillman in a pillow fight and I’m trying desperately not to picture anything more personal at the same time.
“Well, sort of.” Kayla grins. “He usually puts a stop to it pretty quick.” Yeah, better to end this conversation here or I’m going to blush every time I see the man. I sigh again and take another generous spoonful of ice cream.
“Why don’t you head home to him now? Surprise him with some of the ice cream. I’ll be fine. Pretty sure Lance won’t be the one showing, so, really. I’ll get stuff ready for the morning so I can get an early start.”
“You sure? I don’t mind waiting with you.”
I shake my head. “I’m good. And Jed probably is worrying whether he admits it or not.”
“Okay. But once I make that call…”
“Make it. I’ll be fine.”
She nods and gets out her phone, tapping a quick text. “Let me know who comes to the door, though, yeah? I’m dying of curiosity.” She gathers her bags and heads to the exit.
I nod and lock up behind her. Might as well get in my pajamas and sort out my bag for the car. Toby is snoring on the foot of the bed. He knows Kayla, so once he got his requisite tummy rub, he didn’t bother staying awake for anything further.
5
Lance
I’m beyond grumpy when I pull into Sanderson’s driveway. Required attendance, my ass. “What’s all this about, Bill?” I grouse as I walk through his front door.
He shrugs. “Beats me. Beer?” he tosses a bottle my way without waiting for a response. I glance around to see who else is here. Only a couple of guys and they’re not likely to be in the know either.
Then basically everyone shows up at once. There must be twenty guys here tonight. Was it mandatory for everyone? Or do they just not want to miss a show?
When Black sits down at the head of the dining table, I know I’m about to find out. He perches new reading glasses on his hawk-like nose and unfolds a piece of pink-lined notebook paper. “Waverly, we insisted on your presence here tonight because an allegation of a serious crime of the romantic novel nature has been lodged against you.” He looks over the tops of his glasses at me. His expression may be solemn as a judge, but he’s enjoying this a little too much.
“What? I ate too many muffins?”
“Ah, so you acknowledge taking the muffin thing too far. Interesting. Actually, the crime in question is one of the worst inromance…” he leaves a dramatic pause and a bunch of the guys duly gasp in delighted shock as expected.
I fold my arms over my chest and smirk. “And what would that be? Being too handsome? Too polite?”
Damien shakes his head. “Causing undue drama when a simple conversation would clear everything up in five minutes. Readers hate that.” All the guys nod their heads. But now I’m confused.
“What drama and what conversation?” I ask, with exasperation. “And aren’t you doing that yourself by drawing this all out instead of just telling me what you want to say?”
“Weare not a romantic couple,” he says drily, adding unnecessarily, “Thank God.” He unfolds the pink paper. “When you asked Isla and I quote, ‘Would you be interested in baking muffins for me this weekend’, were you attempting to inquire as to her interest in something besides actual baked goods?” The room stills like an overacted court room drama. That isn’t what I said. I was much more direct than that. Wasn’t I?
“I’m sure I asked her if she’d be interested in…” what the hell did I say? I remember being nervous because she worked for me and it would be awkward as hell if… aw shit.
“How does the jury vote?” Damien asks the room solemnly.
