Page 36 of The Woman at the Funeral

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you think about that. I don’t want to ruin your memories of Matthew just because my own are so… complicated.”

“No, it’s not your fault. I’m just surprised I couldn’t see what my brother claims he’d always seen about that friendship.”

“I think maybe you just wanted to believe the best.”

“Maybe,” I agreed. “I don’t have many friendships outside of my family. I think I was clinging to that.”

“Well, now you have a new friend,” she said, shooting me a shy smile. “Was that really cheesy?”

Not at all.

Even if it felt like a kick to the gut to hear that she saw me as a friend.

That was exactly what she needed. It was all we could be, considering.

“No, not cheesy. It would be nice to have a friend. Especially one close enough to share a meal with here and there. I—”

There was a knock at the door, making both of us jolt.

“Sounds like Zeno,” I told her, giving her an apologetic smile.

“How do you know?”

“He knocked once and got distracted,” I said, rising.

By the time I made it to the door, he remembered to knock again.

“Hey, man, I think I found… did you cook?”

“What are you wearing?” I asked, shooting his outfit a bemused smile.

He’d matched a pair of primary-colored polka dot shorts with a t-shirt printed in T-rexes. His hair was clean, though. And his face was shaved.

“Huh? Whatever I grabbed. What is that smell?” he asked, sniffing. “Why are you standing between me and—” He trailed off as he moved in, spotting Blair, who’d risen from her chair to face him, “this exquisite creature?” he finished.

Charmed, Blair’s lips curved up.

“Blair, this is my brother Zeno. Zen, this is Blair Langston-Ferraro.”

“Oh. Oooh,” Zen said, eyes going bright.

Before he could say something stupid, I rushed to cut him off. “That is Blair’s lemon chicken over rice you’re smelling.”

“Is there any left… oh, nice,” he said, spotting the mostly full roasting pan.

The laptop he had under his arm slammed down on the table as he stole my plate and piled it high with the spoon, snagging an asparagus spear and taking a bite.

“Any chance I can hire you to cook for me?” he asked.

Blair flushed again, pleased by the praise. Maybe finally starting to believe it when it wasn’t just me saying it.

“She’s probably a little busy with her three businesses,” I told him as he started to cut the chicken while still standing. “Sit your ass down like a civilized human being,” I demanded in that faux-firm voice I’d always used on my younger siblings.

He said nothing. His mouth was too full. But he dropped down in a chair and reached for my wineglass.

“I should get going,” Blair said.

“You don’t have to.”

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