Page 59 of The Secret

We ate in silence for a minute, both too busy feeding our hunger to take a breath, although I was watching her eat more than I seemed to be concentrating on my own food. I topped up her empty glass.

“Thank you. What did you do today? How was work?”

I wasn’t about to tell her that I did nothing because I couldn’t think of anything except her and my dilemma.

“It was good. The boys came by though, so I didn’t get much done.”

“Don’t they have their own work to do?”

“You’d think, but not today it seemed.”

“They’re funny. The three of you are like an old married couple. Actually, throuple?” Her low growly laugh added an unnecessary level of dirtiness that only served to fill my mind with visuals of her that were wholly inappropriate during dinner time. “They’re very sweet with Bell too.”

“Yes, they are. We all look out for each other.” I forked up a meatball. “What about Payton? When’s she coming over? I want to meet her.”

“Really?”

I sipped my wine. “Yep.”

“She’s going to come on Wednesday. We’re going out for drinks in the evening, if it’s still good for me to have the night off?”

I cringed internally at the reminder of the true nature of our relationship.

“Yes, of course it is. The boys are coming over anyway to watch a game.”

“What’s the game?”

“Yankees at the Red Sox.” I spooned more potatoes onto my plate. She was right, they were the best.

She raised her eyebrow. “Ooh, is that a hard one to pick seeing as you spent your formative years in Boston?”

“No, Penn is an avid Yankees fan. We were never going to be supporting another team.”

“Really? He must have been pissed the other night when they lost.”

I tilted my head as another nugget of information about her came to light. “Are you a baseball fan?”

She shrugged. “I’d go and watch a game because it’s fun, but I don’t really care who wins.”

My eyes opened wide with mock warning. “Whatever you do, do not let Penn hear you say that. You will never hear the end of why baseball is the greatest game in existence, the history of baseball, and its importance in American culture.”

“Seriously?”

I pointed my finger at her. “Yep. You’ve been warned, Columbia. And no amount of baked goods will shut him up.”

“Noted.” She ran her fingers across her lips, twisting at the end, handing me the invisible key.

“Actually, that reminds me, you said you liked going to the new exhibits at the Met?”

“Oh yes, I always try and get tickets for them.”

“There’s a Picasso one coming up soon I think.” I did a quick memory check. “Yes, in a few weeks.”

Her eyes took on a distinctly dreamy but sad look. “Yes!” she exclaimed. “It totally sold out though. I was too late.”

My lips twitched at the corners. “Lucky you know someone who can get you in then, don’t you?”

Her jaw dropped open. “You?”

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