Page 64 of Caper Crush
“You always have the best gossip,” I say. “How do you know?”
“I was joking about being an uncle to their kids, and Jake got that half-panicked, half-determined look on his face that other friends have had right before they’ve proposed.”
“Do you think Audrey knows?”
“I didn’t tell her.”
“They’re good together,” I say. “Time to get yourself your own girlfriend.”
“Harder than it seems.”
“It is.” I smile at Max. I’m tempted to tell him about William.
Max shakes his head. “Two o’clock, parents approaching.”
“My bet is they try to push our getting together from the get-go,” I say.
“I give it five minutes of catch-up,” Max says. “Dinner is the prize.”
“A home-cooked dinner. Finances are fragile.”
John and my mom reach us first.
John says, “Glad you could make it, Miranda. You’re looking in good form. Chin up, as I always say.”
Max’s mother, Anya, joins us.
“But then we expected you a bit earlier, to help out. I’m glad Max was able to get out of work early,” my mom says. “You two make such a stunning couple. Don’t they, Anya?”
“Yes, of course they do.” Anya beams.
I shoot Max a gloating smile. “And Max is such a good cook.” I pinch his cheek.
“Ouch,” Max says. “That’s my cue to feed Miranda. She gets grumpy if she’s not fed.”
“You know me so well,” I say. “It looks like a good crowd.”
John says, “Thanks to Anya for inviting so many of her friends.”
“You always throw a good party.” Anya sips her wine. “Miranda, you should talk to the woman in the purple dress by the bar. But wait until she’s got a few drinks in her. She held a book club meeting at her apartment, and it was filled with abstract art.”
“Thanks so much, Anya. I will.”
“Did you talk to Takashi about pursuing an IT career?” my mom asks.
“Not yet,” I say. “Right now, we’re focused on figuring out who stole the paintings.”
My mom purses her lips, and an awkward silence takes over.
A server asks if we’d like a chicken satay. We all take a skewer and a napkin.
“The food looks delicious,” Max says. “I didn’t have dinner yet.”
“You should eat up,” my mom says.
Max and I make our escape and head over to the table of hors d’oeuvres.
“That’s crazy about your painting being stolen,” Max says. “A friend is coming tonight who is looking to build up her collection. I suggested she take a look at your work. Maybe you can sell a painting to her.”
