Page 77 of Homeport

“Damn it.” Ryan blew out a breath, offered Miranda an apologetic smile. “Be right back.”

“Um . . .” She sat another moment, nearly squirming as Giorgio and Patrick stared at her. “I’ll go see if Mrs. Boldari needs any help after all.”

She escaped into what she hoped was some area of sanity. The kitchen was big and airy and carried the warm, friendly smells of the meal. With its bright counters and sparkling white floor, it was a picture out of a grocery store checkout magazine.

Dozens of incomprehensible pictures executed with crayon crowded the front of the refrigerator. There was a bowl of fresh fruit on the table, and cafe curtains at the windows.

Normality, Miranda decided.

“I hoped you’d bend your rule and let me give you a hand.”

“Sit.” Maureen gestured to the table. “Have coffee. They’ll finish arguing soon. I should wallop them both for making a scene in front of company. My kids.” She turned to an efficient home cappuccino maker and began to fix a cup. “They got passion, good brains, and wide stubborn streaks. Take after their father.”

“Do you think so? I see a lot of you in Ryan.”

It was exactly the right thing to say. Maureen’s eyes turned warm and loving. “The firstborn. No matter how many you have, there’s only one first. You love them all—so much it’s a wonder your heart doesn’t break from it. But there’s only one first. You’ll know, one day.”

“Hmmm.” Miranda declined to comment as Maureen frothed the milk. “It must be a little worrying, having a child go into law enforcement.”

“Colleen, she knows what she wants. Never goes any way but forward, that girl. One day, she’ll be a captain. You’ll see. She’s mad at Ryan,” she continued conversationally, as she set the cup in front of Miranda. “He’ll charm her out of it.”

“I’m sure he will. He’s very charming.”

“Girls always chased after him. But my Ryan’s very particular. He’s got his eye on you.”

It was time, Miranda decided, to put the record straight. “Mrs. Boldari, I don’t think Ryan was completely clear about this. We’re just business associates.”

“You think so?” Maureen said placidly, and turned back to load the dishwasher. “He doesn’t look good enough to you?”

“He looks very good, but—”

“Maybe because he comes from Brooklyn and not Park Avenue he isn’t classy enough for a Ph.D.?”

“No, not at all. It’s simply. . . It’s simply that we’re business associates.”

“He doesn’t kiss you?”

“He—I . . .” For God’s sake, was all she could think, and filled her mouth with hot foamy coffee to shut it up.

“I thought so. I’d worry about that boy if he didn’t kiss a woman who looks like you. He likes brains too. He’s not shallow. But maybe you don’t like the way he kisses. It matters,” she added while Miranda stared into her coffee. “A man doesn’t get your blood up with his kisses, you aren’t going to have a happy relationship. Sex is important. Anybody who says different never had good sex.”

“Oh my,” was all she could think of.

“What? You don’t think I know my boy has sex? You think I have brain damage?”

“I haven’t had sex with Ryan.”

“Why not?”

“Why not?” Miranda could only blink as Maureen tidily closed the dishwasher and began to fill the sink to wash the pots. “I barely know him.” She couldn’t believe she was having this conversation. “I don’t just have sex with every attractive man I meet.”

“Good. I don’t want my boy going around with easy women.”

“Mrs. Boldari.” She wondered if it would help to bang her head on the table. “We’re not going around. Our relationship is strictly a business one.”

“Ryan doesn’t bring business associates home to eat my linguine.”

Since she had no comment for that, Miranda shut her mouth again. She glanced up with relief as Ryan and his sister came through the archway.

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