The Good Wife(98)
A gigantic mistake.
Just like that, Sarah flashed to Boone’s affair three years ago.
No, affairs weren’t something one forgot.
Eager to think about something else, she grabbed her iPhone from where it was charging on the counter and flipped to her calendar. “So, when are you guys coming to see us?” she asked, looking up at Alyssa.
“I don’t know.”
“The Rays will be playing at the Coliseum July thirtieth, thirty-first, and August first. Come out with the kids. Stay with us. We can sightsee or just hang out. It’ll be really fun.”
Alyssa sighed. “Flying across the country with four boys isn’t my idea of fun.”
“I know, I hear that, but once you’re there, you’ll be glad you did it. You can stay for as long as you want, too. We can go up to Napa, do some wine tasting, visit the mud baths in Calistoga.”
“With all the kids?”
“No!” Sarah laughed and refilled their glasses. “You and me. It’ll be a girl thing.”
Alyssa considered the idea. “Maybe.” Then she grinned. “But only if I can meet your wicked sister . . . and her sexy vintner boyfriend!”
“They’re not together anymore.”
“Thank God! That means he’s free.”
* * *
Chris returned to Mama’s Café for the second morning in a row, entering the restaurant with swagger, as well as some famous company.
Lauren had been making coffee, and she paused a moment as she spied Boone, and two other players, trailing after Chris. Four baseball players in her café now. Pretty soon she could be feeding the whole team.
Bette was nearly swooning. She led the men to a booth—Phyllis’s, since Bette’s were all full, talking to them a mile a minute.
Lauren shook her head, smiling, glad she didn’t have to wait on the guys today.
Phyllis walked past with four ice waters. “Hello, Oakland A’s,” she said saucily.
“Enjoy,” Lauren muttered, pushing Brew on the machine.
“I will, but I’m not selfish. You can come say hello.”
Lauren rolled her eyes. “You’re shameless.”
“I know. And I enjoy every minute of it!”
Bette approached, and reaching past Lauren, she opened the display case to lift out a peach pie. “I wish I’d had an open table,” she groused. “It makes me sick that I had to give those men to Phyllis.”
“They’re customers, ladies, not treats,” Lauren said, amused despite herself.
“Well, I can’t help but think that hunky Chris Steir is treat-worthy,” Bette said, plating two generous slices of the pie. “I would snap him up and take him home with me. He’s delish . . .”
Lauren shook her head. “Bette, you’re old enough to be his mom.”
“Maybe even his grandma,” Bette agreed cheerfully, returning the pie to the display case. “But I don’t care. He brings out the cougar in me. Grrr.”
Choking back horrified laughter, Lauren gathered the cups of tea and carried them to her table, along with the promise to bring fresh coffee as soon as it was done brewing, and then, turning around, walked smack into Chris.
Lauren gulped as he reached out to steady her. “Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t know you’d turn that fast.”
Lauren glanced past Chris to Boone. He was observing her, curious. There was something intent, and watchful, in his eyes. It made her grow warm, too warm. It made her wonder if he might possibly be attracted to her.
It was a strange thought, a little heady as well as a little disturbing. Flustered, she looked at Chris. “Hi.”
“How are you?” he asked.
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Yeah,” she exhaled, feeling breathless and out of sorts.
“I’m sorry,” he said, forehead creasing. “How can I help? Is there anything I can do?”
She mirrored his frown. “Excuse me?”
“Boone told me about ‘fine.’” Chris sounded concerned as well as apologetic. “Apparently, fine isn’t good. Fine is just . . . fine.”
Lauren’s gaze narrowed and she stared at him hard, annoyed, before she burst out laughing. “You are so ridiculous.”
He seemed pleased that he’d made her laugh. “How come we’re not in your section?”
“Because it’s full.”
“How come our waitress wouldn’t trade with you?”
“Because I didn’t ask her to.”
“Why not?”
“Because I didn’t want you.”
Chris crossed his massive arms over his chest, and his biceps flexed, muscles rippling. “Now I don’t believe that for one minute.”