Rom-Com Collection. Kristan Higgins

She nailed Dad with a look nearly as terrifying as my mother’s reptilian gaze and continued. “My husband died the year before. I was looking for a meaningless fling, had dinner with Toby here once, slept with him, and that was that.” She paused. “It wasn’t my proudest moment, but I was lonely. And I wasn’t married. Your husband couldn’t keep it in his pants. I think you should blame him.”

      “Oh, I do,” Mom said. “Believe me, I do.” But she looked slightly daunted, perhaps realizing that the first stop on the Tour hadn’t been quite the trashy slut she’d imagined.

      “So.” Tanya looked around the table at each of us. “Anything else?”

      I couldn’t help it. I kind of liked Tanya. “Well, now, Tanya’s got a point,” I said. “You wanted to meet her, here she is. Can we be done? Is everyone happy now? Yes?” I glanced at the aging hippie, feeling more than a twinge of pity for her. “I think we’re done, Tanya. Sorry for this.” Then, in my need to make everyone on earth think well of me, I added, “I love your, uh … shoes.”

      Tanya stood with great dignity and surveyed the three of us. Very deliberately, she picked up her full water glass and tossed the contents in Dad’s face. Then she snatched up the bread basket and the little bowl of chilled butter and walked out, right past Dave, who didn’t say a word.

      My parents sat in silence. Water dripped off Dad’s hair and down into his collar.

      “Thank you so much for making me stay,” I said. “I’m getting cheesecake. And you guys are paying.”

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

      ON MONDAY MORNING, I came into the office full of my usual sunshine and butterflies (or so I liked to think). I pretty much had the corner on the market for sunshine and butterflies … Pete and Leila were so wrapped up in each other, they almost had their own language, like children raised by wolves or whatnot. Karen was best left alone until after ten … it was only safe to go past her office if you were planning to toss in a hunk of raw meat or a double-shot cappuccino. Damien, of course, felt it was beneath his dignity to be cheerful. Fleur preferred to burst into the office, always ten minutes late, talking about hangovers and weekends in New York City and needing a smoke before she could reasonably be expected to function.

      “Right,” she said now, barreling down the hall. “Cheerio, old bean. What’s the news?”

      “Not much,” I said. Fleur was much friendlier when Muriel wasn’t around, something I’d noted and filed away. Mark and Muriel hadn’t arrived yet, hence the “old bean” bit. “How was your weekend?”

      “Went out with a total wanker, Callie, you’d simply die if I told you.” She then proceeded to slay me by launching into a story about a man, a largemouth bass and a thong, but between her colloquialisms and nicotine buzz, I couldn’t quite keep up. Still, I nodded cheerfully when I guessed it was appropriate.

      “So, Callie, it must be hard, seeing them together all the time. They’re really in love, aren’t they?” Fleur asked. Before I could find a way to answer that, she went on. “Anyway, I’ve been meaning for us to have a chat. You ever see that bloke? The vet?”

      “Um, yes, actually. My niece had a field trip to his office. I might be doing a little work for him on the side.”

      “Really? Oh.” Fleur flashed a quick smile, then began reapplying her lipstick, and mussed her short hair. “Right. Seems like a sweetie, yeah?”

      “Sure,” I said, though sweetie felt a bit left of center when I thought of Ian. Which I seemed to be doing a lot. Over the weekend, in between sanding a canoe for Noah, trying out some new hip-hop moves while Bronte howled with horrified laughter, babysitting for Seamus and taking Josephine for a kayak ride, I’d started work on Ian’s Web site. E-mailed him a request for a picture of him and Angie and was still waiting for an answer. Called a bunch of people for the pet fair, which would be held in two weeks.

      “I saw him as well,” Fleur said. “Down at Toasted & Roasted, yeah? Had ourselves a coffee. He was sending out signals, yeah?”

      “Really? He told me … uh, never mind.”

      “What?” she demanded.

      “Well,” I said hesitantly, “he said he wasn’t looking for a relationship right now. But of course, he may be feeling differently with you.”

      She smirked. “Differently, is it? Could be. Well, I’d best get on. Cheerio!”

      I definitely could not see Ian and Fleur as a couple. Wondered just what that coffee meant. Knowing Fleur, they could’ve just passed each other on the street—God knew the woman exaggerated her love life. But on a real date? No way. Not the way she talked a mile a minute, always with the crazy stories and … Now, now, Callie, said my inner Michelle. Don’t be catty.

      Right. Besides, I had work to do. I set down my coffee and turned on my computer, staring into space as it warmed up. Well, not space, exactly. At a picture of Mark and me at the Clios. My dress had been absolutely adorable … this plum-colored A-line number with lighter purple flowers sewn on the bodice. Lots of great cleavage. I looked so happy. Mark did, too. We had been happy …

      Might want to toss that one, Mrs. Obama offered. She was, as usual, right. But not just yet.

      I forced my attention away from the photo and smiled. Fake smiling can lead to real smiling, I once read, and real smiling is good for a person. Still, my heart sighed.

      Around ten, there was a ruckus in the hallway. “Give me ten minutes, Damien!” Mark snapped. Uh-oh. He rarely lost his cool in the office. Trouble in paradise? Betty Boop perked up.

      Mark strode right into my office, which seemed to shrink instantly.

      “Hey, Mark,” I said, giving him a big smile.

      He didn’t smile back. Instead, he closed the door and put his hands on his hips. “What’s this I hear about you doing some freelance work for some vet?”

      “Oh, yeah,” I answered easily. “A little PR for the guy who came on the BTR hike. Not big enough for the agency. Web site, stuff like that. I’ll probably charge him two hundred bucks.” I paused. “I e-mailed you about this over the weekend.”

      “I’ll be the judge of whether it’s big enough for the agency, Callie,” he growled.

      I blinked in surprise. “You never minded me doing little jobs before, Mark,” I pointed out. “The seniors’ center, the nursery school …”

      “Right,” he said. “But … well, you should’ve asked.”

      “I did, Mark. I e-mailed you.”

      “Right,” he said again. He took a deep breath, then sighed and sat down on my couch, running a hand through his tousled hair. “Are you two seeing each other?”

      I nearly choked. “Um … no! No, Mark.”

      He looked at me for a long minute. “Are you seeing anybody these days?” His voice was velvety soft. The same voice he’d used in Santa Fe.

      I took a quick breath. “It’s … I … it’s not really your business, is it?” My heart rolled.

      Mark glanced through the wavy glass wall toward Fleur, who was clicking on her computer and probably straining to overhear us. “No, I guess not,” he said, dropping his eyes to the floor. “It’s just … I’m sorry, Callie. Didn’t mean to be a prick.”

      “It’s okay,” I said, my voice cracking a little. My stomach felt hot, my knees tingled.

      I heard Muriel’s voice then, and the sound of her office door closing. Swallowing, I took a breath—seemed like I’d forgotten to for a few minutes. “Anything else, Mark?” I asked in a normal tone.

      “Actually, yes.” He looked