Mai Tai'd Up(50)

“Oh, for God’s sake. First, I’ll pinch you again if you don’t keep your voice down. Second, it’s complicated. Third, you hit that and I’ll pinch more than your arm. Fourth, of course you can have more. Mint chocolate chip or mocha almond fudge?”

I was nothing if not a good hostess.

“First, try it. Second, nothing is so complicated; that man clearly wants you bouncing on his dick. Third, Clark would never let me, hormones or not. And frankly, he keeps me pretty damn happy, if you know what I’m saying. And fourth, mocha almond fudge, please,” she finished, pushing her bowl toward me.

“Bouncing on his dick?” I whispered back, horrified.

I whispered a little too loudly, because I became suddenly aware of two sets of male eyes on me. One pair, warm and brown, looked equally horrified at my choice of words. The second pair, ice blue and dazzling, merely looked amused.

And now a pair of sea-glass green eyes, full of laughter and mischief as she waved a spoon in my direction. “I’ll take two scoops of that mocha almond fudge, if you don’t mind.” Viv sat back against her cushions, pleased as punch.

“Coming right up,” I said through gritted teeth. I dashed into the kitchen, where I promptly put my head in the freezer. And that’s how Lucas found me moments later.

“Pretty sure that’s how the ice cream melts,” he said, startling me and causing me to knock my head on the ice trays.

“Fudge,” I groaned, pulling my head out and rubbing it.

“No, thanks, I’m a mint chocolate chip man myself,” he said, reaching around me and grabbing that container.

Picking up the mocha almond fudge for Viv, I looked at him balefully. “You’re hilarious,” I muttered, reaching for another bowl.

“And you’re weird. Tonight, at least,” he shot back, licking his spoon.

I’d love to be that spoon. I’d love to be that spoon right now. And if that meant rolling around in peppermint and chocolate chips and climbing into a bowl, I’d do it. Hmm, maybe he was right about the weird part.

“Sorry, guess I’m just nervous about the grand opening tomorrow.” I sighed, returning the ice cream to the freezer and leaning against the fridge. “My mother’s coming, did I tell you that?”

“That’s great! I thought she wasn’t going to be able to make it.”

“She wasn’t; she had some charity event this weekend. But my dad called her and told her she was being an ass.” I wrinkled my brow. “Frankly? He didn’t need to do that. It’s going to be stressful enough tomorrow without her here judging the paper napkins and plastic knives and forks.”

When I’d first invited her to the grand opening, I was pretty sure she’d find a reason not to come. And I was right: the pediatric cancer ball event was the same night and there was no way she’d miss that. It was traditionally one of her favorite events. But my father waded right in and fought the good fight, no doubt throwing around phrases like “For our daughter’s sake,” and “Need to be supportive,” and probably more than a few of the “Marjorie, don’t be an ass” variety.

The result? They were both flying up. Together. I mentally shuddered at the thought of those two sharing a commuter jet, feeling terrible for anyone that had the bad luck of being seated near them. My parents didn’t fight in public. They annihilated each other with kindness. The type of kindness that made you want to slam your own head in a car door just to have an excuse to get away from it.

“Hey, I watched you personally agonize over the knives and forks, and they’re awesome. I’ve never felt so strongly about knives and forks. And the paper napkins? You got the best ones at the party store—the best. The party’s going to be great, don’t worry so much,” he soothed, reaching out to rub my shoulder affectionately. “And if she gets too out of hand, I always have horse tranquilizers in my truck. That’ll shut her right down.”

I burst out laughing. “It may come to that,” I admitted, wiping my eyes.

“I’m on it,” he said, still with the rubbing. “Now come on, your ice cream is melting.” He started to lead me back onto the patio. “By the way, what was that about bouncing on his dick? Whose dick are we talking about?”

When you drop ice cream on a brick patio, it’s impossible to clean up without getting the hose out. And in so doing, I may have sprayed a pregnant lady accidentally. On purpose.





chapter eleven


Marge was right about her baked beans; they were sensational. Everyone’s paper plate was piled high with them, along with fruit salad, coleslaw, and a hot dog or hamburger. We went with a picnic theme: red-and-white checked tablecloths on the picnic tables, utensils in plastic cups on each table, balloons and streamers overhead in the bright sunshine. And a huge sign over the entrance gate that said Our Gang Grand Opening, in case anyone missed that we were now officially, 100 percent, open for business.