Cutting Loose. Susan Andersen

the three of us. I gotta tell you, though, after hearing that spit thing I figured I’d probably never, ever have babies. Because, ew. ”

      Poppy grinned. “Yeah, it didn’t sound real appealing, did it? Luckily, actual kissing turned out to be so much cooler.”

      “Not that you’d know from personal experience.”

      “Of course not,” she agreed with a serene smile, then brushed the topic aside with a long-fingered wave of her hand. “But we’re not talking about me, Jane. So don’t go changing the subject.”

      “Yes, let’s. Let’s change it to something else entirely.”

      “Okay then, how about this? Maybe what you’re feeling isn’t actually lust at all.”

      She considered the possibility for, oh, two full seconds before giving a definitive nod. “Trust me. It’s lust.” A big, fat, flaming-hot case of it. “Or, okay, I suppose it could be heartburn.”

      Her friend practiced the selective deafness that made her such a formidable meddler-with-a-mission and said with a perfectly straight face, “Maybe it was really a case of love at first sight.”

      “Uh-huh. Because everyone knows that’s not a great big fairy tale, or anything.”

      “Hey, it worked for my parents. And Ava’s mom and dad might be sort of benignly neglectful in the parental department, but look how long they’ve been married.”

      “I always sort of assumed that was because there was too much money involved to go through the hassle of getting a divorce. But maybe not. They do seem to do a lot of stuff together.”

      “See? The world is simply lousy with True Love stories. So tell me your guy’s name and maybe I can help you figure out how to handle the situation.”

      “I’ve figured it out for myself, thank you very much. It’s pretty simple, really.” She gave Poppy a level look. “I’m handling it by not doing anything at all.”

      “That’s a horrible game plan.”

      “Yet all mine.”

      “Tell me, Jane-Jane.”

      “You don’t really want to go there with that name-Pop-Pop.”

      “ Tell me.”

      “No.”

      Poppy treated her to another Calloway Evil Eye. This time, however, Jane wasn’t about to budge and she shot the Kaplinski version right back at her.

      Her blond friend studied her for a moment. Then she gave a clipped nod. “Oh, all right. But you know I’ll get it out of you sooner or later. I don’t know why you don’t just save us all some trouble and tell me now.”

      “I’ve never minded a little trouble.”

      “In what universe, pray tell?”

      She merely gave the other woman her best inscrutable smile.

      “Fine.” Poppy heaved a disgruntled sigh. “Be that way. I didn’t come here to see you, anyway. Ava told me Dev has some great photos from the Washington State archives. Have you seen him today?”

      Jane’s heart kicked hard, then commenced to gallop in her chest. Luckily, Poppy was busy glancing around as if she expected her question to make him magically appear and didn’t notice her expression. Good thing, because Jane was pretty sure it would render the question about who she was lusting over obsolete.

      She managed to compose her features in the moment it took Poppy to turn her attention back to her. “No, I haven’t. Considering all the clomping around I’ve heard from up in the sunroom this afternoon, though, I’m gonna take a wild stab and guess he’s upstairs.”

      Poppy studied her a moment. “Tell me you’re not still holding on to that ridiculous grudge because he knocked back a few too many tequilas last week.”

      “Hey, I’ll have you know I’m being incredibly open-minded. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that he was sober when I saw him yesterday. Or that those footsteps I mentioned sounded fairly steady.” Or the fact she’d already decided she’d been a bit precipitous passing judgment.

      “Dammit, Jane! You have got to stop this judgmental shit, because I swear if you louse this up for us-”

      “Oh, get a grip, I haven’t done anything to upset your precious arrangement with Kavanagh Construction. As a matter of fact, I was the epitome of professionalism with him yesterday-and if you don’t believe me, just ask Ava.” Who luckily hadn’t been around during her afternoon conversation with Devlin. “Not that I can swear she was actually paying attention, mind you. She was pretty jazzed about those photos.”

      The mention of which diverted Poppy’s attention. “Av said you saw them, too?”

      “I did, and they’re every bit as great as she’s undoubtedly told you.”

      “Hot damn. I’m gonna go find Devlin and see for myself.” She started toward the doorway.

      “I’ll catch you later, then,” Jane said to her friend’s retreating back. “I’m going to call it a day and head home.” Where she intended to put Devlin out of her mind once and for all and buckle down to finish her report.

      Poppy paused to look back over her shoulder. “Hang around for another fifteen minutes. We can go grab some dinner.”

      She hesitated for a second, not sure she wanted to go another round defending her right to keep a few thoughts to herself. But visualizing her almost empty refrigerator and even sparser cupboards, she nodded. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

      “Okay, then, I’ll be back in a few.” She raised her brows. “Unless you wanna come up with me?”

      Jane managed not to screech, “Are you out of your freakin’ mind?” Her face even felt halfway composed when she said coolly, “No, you go ahead. We’ll probably get to eat a lot sooner if only one of us is drooling over the pics. And this will give me a chance to get a little more done on my report.”

      “Okay, then. I won’t be long.”

      “Hey, take your time.” She didn’t mind waiting. As long as she didn’t have to endure any face-to-face time with The Incredible Radiating Pheromone Man, she was perfectly happy to have Poppy take just as long as her little heart desired.

      S HORTLY AFTER NOON the following day, Jane left the staff room at the Seattle Metropolitan Museum. She was slightly dazed, yet at the same time completely wired. Her meeting with Marjorie earlier this morning had gone well. She’d expected no less, since she had prepared for it last night with her usual overachiever obsessiveness, working from the time she got home from dinner until a case of scorched-earth eyeballs had forced her to close down her Mac shortly after midnight. Being in her own tidy little Belltown condo had helped her finally shove Mr. Too-hot-for-his-britches Kavanagh out of her mind, which in turn had allowed her to polish up her report until it shone and pore over her notes until she had all the major points in her presentation memorized.

      Someone a little more laid-back might have skimped on their report, given that the only condition of Miss Agnes’s jewelry and couture-clothing-for-the-ages bequest to the Met was that Jane be the one to catalog the two collections. After all, it wasn’t as if Marjorie could yank the job out from under her and pass it along to someone with more seniority. Well, she could, of course. She was the director; she could do whatever she pleased. But she couldn’t do so and have the museum keep the collections.

      The notion was moot, anyhow. Jane wasn’t laid-back. Preparation was her middle name and she simply could not, in all good conscience, give her superior a half-assed report.

      The opportunity that Miss Agnes, bless her heart, had provided her wasn’t something Jane took for granted. This was going to make her instantly more visible in the art community. Everyone was going to be taking a closer look at her now, and if she handled this assignment