SEAL the Deal(38)

“Other people do it.”

“Not me.”

“I see that,” Edith agreed, dropping the subtlety. “And what about Lacey?”

“What about her?”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with her.”

“We’re just friends, Mrs. B. Neither of us has interest in anything else. Well, not really, anyway.”

Edith lifted her eyebrows. “Not really?”

Mick remained silent, knowing it would be in poor taste to tell a woman who was old enough to be his grandmother that he was just looking for meaningless sex. Well, maybe not meaningless, but certainly sex without complications. His friendship with Lacey had come to mean too much to sacrifice it for a roll in the sack.

“Friends is fine, too, I suppose,” Edith conceded. “Lacey’s such a dear. She’s been so helpful putting this fundraiser together. I don’t know how I got along last year without her. I couldn’t help hoping that there might have been a spark between you two.”

A spark? Mick thought, frustrated. It was a lot more than a spark. More like the Fourth of July fireworks display on the Mall in DC. But with the wrong person at the wrong time for both of them.

“She’s the helpful sort,” he said with a grunt, thinking how helpful it would be to have Lacey’s long legs wrapped around him on a regular basis. Yep, he could use that kind of help. “Can you hand me the towel there?”

“So long as you get along, Mick, because I’ve come to treasure her friendship. In fact, since you do, would you mind going to a tasting I set up for her?”

“A tasting?”

“At Eagle’s Point on the Bay where the fundraiser will be. I have to decide which entrées I want served and the chef agreed to fix up some samples for Lacey and me. But I’d much rather you went with Lacey so that I could get a man’s perspective on the meal.”

“A man’s perspective on the meal?” he repeated back to her, skeptical.

“Well, yes. I’d like the men attending to enjoy what they are eating. And if it was just Lacey and me selecting, then it would probably end up being far too… feminine. Little quiches and finger sandwiches. That sort of thing.”

“Then just serve up steak and potatoes. That’s what the guys want.”

“Oh, Mick, don’t be so difficult. They don’t serve simple steak and potatoes at a place like Eagle’s Point. If you saw all the options that the chef is having us sample, you’d see why I need your input. I haven’t asked you to do anything at all for me.”

“No, I’m just fixing your leaky sink,” Mick grumbled, glaring at the old woman through the maze of pipes.

“I meant for the fundraiser. And I’ll remind you I never asked you to do this,” she finished, gently waving her hand at the sink.

“Sounds like a set-up to me.” Mick enjoyed Lacey’s company, but was happier in a group. The idea of sitting at a candlelit table with her for an entire evening without Jack, Maeve, and Bess there to play chaperone sounded like torture.

“Everything sounds like a set-up to you, young man.” She slapped her hands down on her thighs. “Fine. I’ll ask some other man to go with her.”

Mick relaxed, picturing some ancient, harmless hospital benefactor eating dinner with Lacey. That worked fine for him.

Edith continued, “Come to think of it, there’s a handsome young doctor who specifically mentioned how Lacey caught his eye when she visited the hospital with me last week. Of course! I’m sure he’d love the opportunity to go with Lacey.”

Mick’s blood simmered at the thought of some slick doctor moving in on Lacey. He peered out from under the sink to see if she was bluffing.

Edith wore the perfect poker face. “Or you could indulge an old woman who simply wants to see you eat a nice meal in exchange for your less-than-expert epicurean advice.”

Drying the pipe, Mick let out a slow breath. “Can you turn the water on, please?”

“Of course.”

He held his breath as he waited to see if the drip returned. It was uncomfortable enough laying beneath a leaky sink, but being a captive audience for this conversation made it even worse.

After a minute, he breathed a sigh of relief. “I think it’s fixed.” Just then, a drip landed in his eye. “Damn it!”

“Not fixed?”

“No.”

“Mick, please stop and let me call a plumber. I have to run some errands now, anyway.”

“No,” Mick barked. “Not. Giving. Up. On. This.” Each word was punctuated with a grunt as he tugged on the wrench.

“All right. But lock up behind you, dear.”