Page 16 of Red Hot Roaster

A woman’s voice sounded, low yet honeyed in its warmth, clear yet edging into huskiness as though tears were taking over.

Singing “Love Me Tender” again, yet this time…hittingallthe notes.

She drew a ragged breath and continued. I peered over the gate. Rose sat on the lawn near the patio, Princess and Pirate cuddled up close with their heads in her lap. She was stroking down their backs as she sang, and then she broke off and started sobbing into Pirate’s neck.

My throat clenched, and I didn’t, couldn’t call out. She didn’t need me, didn’t need a stranger intruding on her grief. I turned around and headed back toward the café. I’d have a quiet word with Finn to let him know where his mom was. After that, I’d duck behind the counter and start cleaning up.

Chapter 10

Rose

“You should have seen the look on your face when he took off his shirt.” Lauren was doing her famous giggle-snorts and falling off her bar stool at the same time.

We were now well into the after-dinner-drinks phase of our evening—did somebody say “limoncellos all around?”—and we were perilously close to feeling no pain.

All our laughing was just what we both needed. It was only the two of us this time, out for dinner at my favorite Italian place before Lauren flew back to California—and her unraveling life—tomorrow.

We’d spent the entire afternoon together. Lauren had dragged me out of the Chocolate Lab early, with Mateo waving goodbye, and Rafe looking mystified. After my initial protests, after I’d agreed to “chill the fido out,” she’d treated us to a salon-and-shopping spree. An early birthday gift, she’d said—although my birthday wasn’t until next April. Also, she knew I’d never do this on my own. Because, well, money and time.

The new day spa across from Fay’s had been our first stop, where Lauren’s charm—and, I suspected, her pocketbook and an earlier call—had gotten us in the door. A fresh cut and style, a green tea facial and a pink-painted pedicure later, we’d strolled out and down the street to a tiny boutique that Lauren had spied.

One look, and I’d turned to go. My bestie had grabbed my arm and propelled me backward.

“Uh-uh, girlfriend. You need to wander out of your comfort zone. Trust me!”

An hour later, we had poured ourselves into our new outfits—tight, clingy skirts, silky camisoles, short flirty sweaters and strappy sandals—and had set out for the liquid portion of our day.

The neighborhood around Limoncello’s was usually packed, but I’d squeezed into a spot on a side street. Over our first Manhattans, we’d agreed on one rule for the rest of the evening—only funny, happy, lighthearted talk. We’d already dissected the sad stuff in both our lives ad nauseam. Enough.

During another round of Manhattans and a bottle of red, with a “side” of pasta, Lauren had shared more stories from the dance fest that’d wrapped up Mom’s party.

I’d gone missing in action by that time—it had gotten to be too much for me.

“You nailed it, Rose,” she informed me with glee. “Most of the guys took one giant step back when Adam asked everybody to find a partner and dance.

“Luckily, your good boy pulled his Aunt Mica out into the cleared area, Jen and I joined them, and we got things started. Pete asked Mateo’s little sister to dance—or really just swing hands together. So cute! Scott convinced his twins to come out and rock with their old man and proceeded to embarrass the hell out of them—on purpose, I’m sure—with all his crazy moves. Even Jen was laughing.”

Scott was Jen’s ex. They’d split a couple of years ago under sad circumstances—anytime we saw her being lighthearted was a win. He still lived in the Dogwood neighborhood and saw his girls all the time.

“By that time, most everyone had gotten into the spirit,” Lauren continued. “People were dancing like you hoped—even if they were dancing by themselves. And here’s the sweetest thing. Mateo had asked his mom to dance when one of the slower songs came up where they could two-step. After a couple of minutes, Pete tapped his shoulder and cut in to dance with Liliana…andtheyslowed it down even further, basically to a waltz, I guess. So sweet.”

“From what I could see when I walked back in, you knew how to waltz too,” I pointed out. “You’ve been hiding your talents from us!”

“I was just following Jean-Luc’s lead. It would’ve seemed rude to say ‘no’ when he asked me to dance. He has elegant, smooth movements, I think. Don’t you agree?”

She trailed off and looked at me. I raised an eyebrow.

“Not a word about this to Jen and Mica,” Lauren begged.

“Of course not.” I wassogoing to pass along her opinion of the handsome Frenchman.

“Well, speaking of really being able to move, what did you think of Rafe at the soccer match?”

By this time, we’d settled our dinner bill and were seated at the bar with our house-made limoncellos—my treat this time. I let the abrupt change of topic pass because I was that type of friend. And because we’d eventually come back to it.

It was Lauren’s turn to rib me about the new guy on the scene. Before she even started in, I blushed—or was itflushed?—the sizzle sweeping from the tips of my breasts, up my throat, over my face and under my hair to settle in a heatedpulse, pulse, pulseinside my head.

Was I under the influence of too many Manhattans? Or was I ready for a distraction after this week?

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