Page 96 of Lovesick
“You’ve lost more weight,” Stella said with a pinch to my elbow as she pulled away. “Get some more food in you, girl. You’re too skinny. Don’t worry, I brought bundt cake! That’ll fatten you up.”
Stella was a sixty-something single woman who ran the grocery store in Pineville. She dyed her hair black every six weeks, plucked her eyebrows every Sunday, and always had a sparkling white smile for anyone. She was also as wide as she was tall and not-so-secretly envied my leaner figure.
“Leave her alone.” Leslie scowled as she slipped into the booth across from me. “She’s perfect the way she is.” She sent me a reassuring wink, and I smiled. I’d missed her daily stop-ins at the coffee shop. In our book club, Leslie was the stable center to some pretty tumultuous book discussions. Today, she wore a bright-pink winter hat topped with a round ball. Grace, a retiree in her late seventies, had knitted it for her last month.
“Fresh lasagna from Stephanie on the menu tonight, ladies!” said Grace as she slid down the booth across from me, a bag full of knitting needles and yarn on one arm. “I called and talked to the cook myself. You know the secret is extra ricotta?” She sent me a wink.
Although Grace had a pillow of white hair on top of her head and spoke quietly while her knitting needles clacked in her arthritic hands, she had a saucy streak. All of her book recommendations ended up having naughty sex scenes. “Keeps a woman on her toes,” she always said with a delicious shudder.
While the three of them settled into the booth, I tried to keep up with all their questions. They were the perfect distraction in the midst of the chaos. Minutes later, Stephanie appeared with our lasagna. Four plates slid around the table, accompanied by silverware, the smell of basil and tomatoes, and piping hot squares of pasta I couldn’t wait to eat.
“Lasagna night is my favorite.” I leaned over the dish with a deep, tomatoey inhale. “You have my heart, Grace, for choosing it.”
Leslie doled the rest of the lasagna and fresh bread onto each plate. Slippery pasta and ricotta cheese piled high on my fork when I took my first bite. Perfection.
Could JJ do better? Probably. He did everything so well.
Leslie slid our book forward. This month had been romance month. We swapped genres every month, repeating the cycle every six months.
“His Hidden Secret.” She thumped the cover. “Not a bad one, if you ask me. But I think I need a break from Scottish lairds.”
“Not me,” Grace crooned. “I could read about those hunky men forever.”
“It was good,” Stella said. “But it wasn’t great. The narrative was too aligned around description, and I didn’t get enough back-and-forth between the characters. As a tour of Scotland, it was acceptable.”
“Picky woman!” Grace cried. “Did you even notice the kissing scenes?”
“It’s pretty unrealistic, as romance goes,” Leslie said. “Where are the squalling children and annoyed moments? If there’s not at least one scene with the wife almost slapping her husband, I’m out.”
I chuckled around a bite of marinara sauce while the three ladies argued it out. The book had been a bit wordy. Of course, maybe even occasionally boring. Somewhat repetitive. I’d predicted every romantic scene almost to the moment. Maybe I knew romance a littletoowell. It was hard to surprise me these days.
My phone buzzed against my thigh and caused a somersault in my stomach. Maybe it would be from JJ. I snuck a quick glance at my screen. A text from Bethany. I shoved it back into my pocket without opening it.
“Helloooo?” Stella crooned.
My head popped up. Three suspicious sets of eyes were locked on me. I ignored the buzz of another message.
“Sorry.”
Grace lifted a thin eyebrow. “And who is more important than Laird MacLean?”
“Just a message from Bethany.”
Leslie pointed a fork at me. “That aside, something is going on. You’re so quiet tonight. You had no opinion on the first-kiss scene in the forest? Come on. Spill it. What happened? We’re as much a gossip club as a book club.”
“She’s right,” Grace whispered to Stella, who nodded. “We do gossip a lot.”
I swallowed hard. There was no point in lying to them. They were experienced women and could always see right through me.
Plus, I needed the help.
“Um, yes. Something did happen. With JJ Bailey and me.”
“Now there’s a man I’d like to see in a romance novel,” Grace said with a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes.
Leslie leaned forward, lasagna dripping off her fork. “Does this have something to do with the accident?”
“Accident?” Grace cried. “What accident?”
