“Actually, I don’t. Yes, I would love to join you for dinner. However, your aunt already issued the invitation and I accepted.”
“Aunt Charity phoned?”
“First thing this morning.”
Chloe knew she shouldn’t be annoyed at her aunt. After all, Charity called the old Victorian mansion home, and she had every right to invite whomever she liked. But the tension was there all the same.
“That’s great,” Chloe told him. “I’ll see you then. This time I promise not to freak when you show off your scars.”
“If you’re very good I’ll even let you touch them.”
She thought about the one on his leg and couldn’t suppress a shudder of anticipation. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
* * *
CHLOE PULLED INTO the driveway. Mr. Withers, the seventy-year-old misogynist caretaker sat on his rider-mower, going back and forth on the front lawn.
“Evening, Mr. Withers,” Chloe called out as she stepped up to the front porch.
Mr. Withers offered a wave that was more dismissal than greeting and muttered something under his breath. Probably something mildly offensive, Chloe thought with a grin. The old man had been around since long before her mother had been born. He’d always taken care of the house. If either of the sisters dared to try to engage him in conversation they risked being called mindless ninnies. Chloe had always wanted to ask what other kind of ninnies existed—didn’t the definition of the insult imply a mindlessness? But she didn’t think Mr. Withers would appreciate her humor.
“Have a nice night,” she told him as she stepped into the house and was rewarded with another grunt.
She shut the front door behind him, effectively cutting off most of the noise from the power mower. “I’m home,” she yelled in the direction of the kitchen.
“It’s Chloe!” Cassie came racing down the hall and slipped to a stop in front of her. “I want to hear everything, but so does Aunt Charity so you have to wait until we’re all together. But plan on spilling lots and lots of details. Oh, and he’s coming to dinner. Isn’t that great?” She took a deep breath before continuing. “He is so amazingly cool and good-looking. How can you stand it? I mean, spending the day with him. Did he look into your eyes and say something wonderful? Don’t you think he’s just incredibly interesting?”
Chloe put down her briefcase and slipped out of her linen jacket. After linking her arm with her sister’s she led them both to the kitchen. “I don’t even know where to start,” she admitted. “I swear, Cassie, sometimes you act like you’re barely sixteen instead of nearly twenty-five.”
Cassie tossed her head, making her short dark hair dance around her face. “I’m blessed with an enthusiastic nature,” she said, not the least bit insulted by her sister’s comment. “I enjoy life and all that it has to offer. Arizona Smith is a very interesting man and I’m enjoying his company. We can’t all be jaded reporters. I’d rather be the romantic dreamer I am any day.”
They reached the kitchen. Cassie stepped away and got them each a soda from the refrigerator. Chloe settled at the kitchen table. “Where’s Aunt Charity?” she asked.
“Taking a shower. The spaghetti sauce has been simmering for hours.” She pointed to a pot on a back burner. She plopped down opposite her sister. “Tell me everything.”
Chloe obliged, telling her sister about the gem exhibit and recounting Arizona’s stories.
Cassie sighed. “It’s so romantic. What a great way to spend the morning. But you probably just sat there taking notes, not even noticing the man. You’re hopeless.” Cassie tucked her short hair behind her ear. “I swear, when I have my twenty-fifth birthday and I get to wear the nightgown, I’m not going to waste a perfectly good opportunity dreaming about nothing! I plan to have a wonderfully romantic dream.”
Chloe smiled as her sister talked. She was glad they were back together again. The three years they’d spent apart in high school had been difficult for them both. She fought against a familiar flash of anger. Their parents should have planned better, she thought for the thousandth time. If they had, the two sisters wouldn’t have been separated and put into different foster homes.
She shook off the old memories and concentrated on the evening ahead. She’d promised herself that she would act like a real professional, that she wouldn’t let thoughts of the dream interfere.
“What time is Arizona coming over?” she asked.
Cassie glanced at the clock above the stove. “In about an hour.”