Page 57 of This Loving Feeling (Mirror Lake)

“It is a boob.” She steered her grandmother to the chair she had set up. “Please come and sit down now. I need to finish your portrait before the big benefit.”

“You looked a little upset last night talking to Meg in the bar.”

“I’m fine.”

“And you have dark circles under your eyes this morning. Surprising, because you and Lukas seemed to be having so much fun yesterday at the party.”

Pry, pry, pry. That’s what Effie did, but you hardly knew it because she always did it in the gentlest way possible.

Jess walked in then with three steaming coffee cups. From Mona’s, not Joe’s dank coffee from the office. “He kissed her. On the lips. And she liked it.”

Sam made sure to secure a coffee before she shot Jess an icy stare. “I haven’t even toldyouthat yet.”

“Meg was getting coffee this morning, too. She needed to vent.”

Vent my ass. There were times Sam wished she lived in New York or San Francisco, someplace where you didn’t always run into people you knew. Or at least a place where the people you did know knew how to keep their mouths shut.

“I didn’t like it.” She squirted out some paint onto her palette. Except she squeezed too hard and it spurted across the desk.

“That’s not what Meg said,” Jess said in a singsongy voice.

“Jess, I know you’ve got a lot of end-of-the-year cleaning to do.” Sam stood and escorted her friend to the door. “So why don’t you get right to it and come back later—much later—when it’s time for a break?”

Sam sat again. “I’m starting to worry we’re never going to finish this.”

The fact that Effie was actually in place for once signaled the end of their discussion. For now. But Sam had no sooner painted a couple of strokes when there was a knock on the door.

“Can I come in?” a male voice asked.

Effie turned—of course. “Oh, come in, Evan dear,” she said. “My, you’re looking handsome.”

Sam stopped her work—again—to look up. Then did a double take andholy moly, Evan had vanished. And in his place was another man who vaguely resembled him except that he didn’t.

This person was not wearing smudgy glasses. His hair was cut. He was wearing a navy polo shirt!

“I was on my way out and I thought I’d stop and say hi.”

Jess popped her head in the door of the art room and nearly fell over. “Hey, I heard voices and wow—Evan? Is that you?”

“Hello, Jessica,” he said.

Jess immediately walked over and began stalking him in a circle. “You got your hair cut. Are those contacts? Nice shirt! And what’s this?” She picked up the book he’d set down on one of the long countertops. “This isn’t a physics book,” Jess said. “This is ... French poetry.”

“Yeah, so what?”

Her eyes narrowed, as inWho are you and what happened to the real Evan Wolensky?“Why are you reading French poetry?”

“Because I like it. It relaxes me.” He tugged his book gently from her hands. “Besides, I’ve always read French poetry. You just never noticed.” He gave a wave from the door. “See you all at the donor dinner Saturday. Have a nice day, Jessica.” If he saw that her mouth was hanging open, he was too polite to say anything.

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