Page 20 of Things We Left Behind
“You look like your rich uncle Bartholomew has a yacht docked in Martha’s Vineyard,” I observed.
“You know Stef. He doesn’t do casual,” Jeremiah said with affection as they both shrugged out of their coats.
“There’s nothing wrong with looking good. Now, I believe I was promised a margarita the size of my face,” Stef said.
“Someone’s got good taste,” Jeremiah said, plucking Lucian’s coat from the closet.
“Well, well, well. Who doesthisbeauty belong to?” Stef demanded, stroking a hand over the cashmere.
Shit.
“No one,” I said quickly.
“Is that Burberry?” Lina asked, reaching for the label.“Please tell me you’re sleeping with someone who has really good taste.”
I should have just left his damn coat on his damn kitchen counter.
Naomi buried her face in the fabric. “So soft! And it smells amazing.” Her head came up, a frown pinching her mouth. “And familiar.”
Stef, Jeremiah, and Lina each took a whiff.
“Lucian,” they said together.
All eyes returned to me.
I turned my back on them and took my margarita and pizza into the living room, a space crowded with mismatched furniture, a six-foot fireplace with actual marble angels holding up the mantel, and built-in cabinetry crammed with family history.
My friends followed on my heels like a flock of rabid ducklings.
“Please tell me I’ll find his pants upstairs under your bed,” Lina said.
“Please tell me you can barely walk because he unleashed his undiluted reservoir of manly testosterone on you,” Stef demanded.
“Please tell me you two finally realized how you really feel about each other!” Naomi squealed.
I dropped onto a striped wingback chair that had been worn teddy bear soft by two decades of family rear ends, placing my dinner and drink on the brass-topped side table. “Oh my God, weirdos. He gave me his coat to wear this morning because it was cold and he wanted me to stay warm enough to listen to him yell at me.”
Naomi gasped. “He yelled at you at your father’s funeral?”
“That sounds about right,” Jeremiah said.
Lina winced. “Yeah, he’s not exactly known for being warm and fuzzy at the office.”
“The man would yell at me athis ownfuneral,” I pointed out.
“This story just took a lame, nonnude turn. I’m gettingthat margarita,” Stef announced and headed in the direction of the kitchen.
“What was he yelling at you about? Do you want me to kick his ass at work tomorrow?” Lina asked.
Lina had quit her often dangerous, always-on-the-road job as an insurance investigator and was now consulting part-time with Lucian’s team while she and Nash planned their wedding.
“I can ‘accidentally’ shave his head next time he comes in for a cut,” Jeremiah offered.
“I’d rather do the ass kicking and head shaving myself. What does his research team research anyway? Ways to torture baby pandas?” I asked Lina, hoping to change the subject.
“I haven’t been brought into the inner sanctum yet. But so far, no signs of baby panda torture.” She settled herself into the pilled blue armchair in front of the fireplace and draped her legs over one arm.
Naomi perched on the couch and neatly arranged the coasters on the wood plank coffee table between stacks of books and trays of candles.
