Page 5 of Undo Me

You promised yourself you’d try.

She pulled her waist-long braid, her only nod to vanity, over her shoulder and fiddled with it, searching for something to say. Small talk. She could do small talk, right?

“So, um, Allegra. Michelle tells me you’re writing a book about voodoo spirits. I’ve always enjoyed your magazine articles. You have a way of making people feel like they’re on the adventure with you.”

Allegra grinned, her arms coming up as she placed her hair in a sloppy knot on top of her head. The movement showed off the scars running down both arms, the only visible sign that the lively woman had been in that horrible accident a few years before.

“I’m glad someone read them,” she joked lightly. “This story is a little different though. Okay, a lot different. From the way Michelle’s bragged about your literary acumen, I’m not sure it would be up your alley.”

Bethany’s shoulders relaxed, as they usually did when discussing her favorite topic. “I don’t know what Michelle told you, but I’m not a snob when it comes to reading.”

“What is she a snob about?” Ben asked in an aside.

“I’ll tell you later.”

Ignoring their banter, Bethany focused on Allegra. “I swear, all books are up my alley. Other people fill their apartments with furniture, pets or people. I fill mine with books. All topics in multiple languages and zero judgment. What kind of book is it? What’s the title?”

“It’s called Bone Daddy,” Ben drawled with a wide, teasing grin. “And according to my Mimi, it’s very educational. Legs and Rousseau have been researching for months now.”

Rousseau sent a mock glare in his friend’s direction. “That’s enough out of you. Knowing this group, I’m sure Bethany will find out about that subject before too long. But at the moment, your guests are hungry and my jambalaya is ready, so let’s deal with one thing at a time.”

They took their steaming bowls out to the main dining room. It looked like it was meant for linen and lace, for silver tureens and respectfully folded hands. But Ben grabbed the ornate wooden chair Michelle was sitting on and dragged it closer to him without fanfare, and Allegra and Rousseau were practically in each other’s laps as they ate.

She supposed standing on ceremony seemed unnecessary when you were that in love. She wouldn’t know.

Reason number one hundred and twenty-two why books were better than people: Happy endings were basically guaranteed, but in the end, you knew it was fiction so you felt better going to bed alone.

Michelle and Allegra’s happy endings were real. It was a little disconcerting.

And now you sound bitter.

She wasn’t. She was honestly comfortable with the fact that that kind of thing wasn’t in the cards for someone like her. A thirty-seven-year-old creature of habit, far too set in her ways to change. Some people were better off alone. Her aunt had taught her that. At least it was preferable to loving someone who would never love her in return, or settling for less than what Michelle had clearly found after returning home.

“This is delicious.” She scooped another bite of the fiery concoction into her mouth and closed her eyes in delight.

“Not too spicy?” Rousseau asked sincerely. “I’m told I can be a little heavy-handed.”

Michelle laughed. “Please. My Bethany could sit here eating the hottest pepper ever created without breaking a sweat. It’s a super power, like Allegra’s ability to get into trouble.”

“Hey.” But Allegra smiled as she said it.

Michelle pointed toward Bethany. “She once invited me over to share a carton of some kind of Thai insanity that she called papaya salad, but was secretly covered in chilies that about killed me.”

“You’re exaggerating a little.” She still felt bad about that. “But to be fair, the delivery guy and I were so close we practically exchanged greeting cards. He always asked them to give me extra chilies and it kind of slipped my mind.”

Allegra was shaking her head. “And Michelle always told us the food was boring in New York.”

“Compared to home, it was,” Michelle said agreeably. “Unless I was at Bethany’s. She knew all those out of the way places that served the best food.”

She toasted Michelle with her spoon. “It takes years of takeout menu experimentation to become a master. If you reach my level, you either have no life, twenty cats, or both.”

Bethany looked down at her bowl when the laughter died as they wondered how to respond to her comment. She should have quit while she was ahead.

A cool breeze shimmied up her spine, giving her a start. It was followed quickly by something tugged on her braid. She turned around in her chair, frowning. “Speaking of cats, do you have some you didn’t tell me about?”

She turned back and noticed Michelle’s bright green eyes were focused on the space behind her. “No cats.”

Rousseau sighed and set his spoon down. “Here we go.”

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