Beth Andrews - What Happens Between Friends

“Yeah? Well, let me tell you something, Your Majesty, you don’t look so hot right now, either. And you stink.”

The dog turned his face away, his black-and-pink nose lifted in the air.

“Oh, don’t be so sensitive. Just speaking the truth here. Look, my Jeep has a brand-new dent—which means I’m going to hear, yet again, how careless, reckless and hopeless I am—all because of you. But you don’t see me holding a grudge, do you? You have two choices here—you can come with me, get something to eat, get cleaned up and spend the rest of the night warm and dry. Or you can stay here, wet and miserable and, yes, smelly. What’s it going to be?”

Elvis looked at her, then the woods, the road and then her again.

“Really? This is something you have to think about?” Her hair was dripping and she was soaked through to her underwear—which was sticking to her skin. She blinked water from her eyes. “You know what? Maybe I should rescind my offer. After all, it looks as if you’re doing just dandy without any help from me.”

Elvis got to his feet slowly and, it seemed to Sadie, with a great deal of resignation, and crossed to her. Nudged her thigh with his head.

“Yeah,” she said. “That’s what I thought.”

He followed her to the Jeep. She opened the passenger-side door and he hopped onto the seat, lifting and lowering his legs—all the better to spread muddy paw prints over the light gray fabric.

“You missed a spot,” Sadie told him, but he ignored her sardonic tone and sat, looking very much the regal ruler ready to be driven to his castle.

She shut the door and hurried around to the driver’s side. “I bet you’re starving,” she said as she started the engine. “After birthday cake, we’ll order a pizza. Double pepperoni.”

Shivering, she buckled up and blasted the heat. Thanks to the Jeep’s four-wheel drive, they were on the road a minute later, heading toward Shady Grove—and all the memories, conflicted familial relationships and emotional baggage that went along with going home.

* * *

“WELL?” JAMES MONTESANO’S mother asked as she measured grounds into the coffeemaker.

Through the open window over the sink, the scents of rain and wood smoke drifted into the kitchen. When the rain started twenty minutes ago, the birthday guests had abandoned the fire ring set on the lower tier of the three-level deck to settle inside, either in the living room, where James’s grandfather played the fiddle, or in the game room in the basement, from where bursts of raucous laughter—along with the occasional good-natured curse—floated upstairs.

No matter what the occasion, the time of year or the weather, his mom threw one hell of a party.

“Well what?” He eyed the leftover sheet cake. They’d done the whole singing thing—though he’d gotten out of the candle tradition by letting his seven-year-old nephew, Max, blow them out. James had already had two scoops of ice cream plus two servings of the German chocolate cake with coconut pecan frosting.

Aw, what the hell? If a man couldn’t have extra cake on his birthday, what was the point of getting another year older?

Stretching onto her toes, Rose reached over the sink and turned the handle, closing the window. “What do you think of Anne?”

James cut a large square of cake and set it on one of his mother’s fancy dessert plates. He licked frosting from the side of his thumb. “Who?”

“Anne.” His mother snapped the lid of the coffeemaker shut and turned it on. “Anne Forbes. The pretty brunette in the dark blue dress?” He shook his head and she sighed heavily. “The new painter?”

Right. Kloss Painting and Wallpaper’s newest hire. Brunette. Blue dress. Early thirties. “She seems capable. Has some good ideas for the kitchen and dining room at Bradford House.”

Montesano Construction was nearing completion of their renovations of the one-hundred-year-old Victorian. Still, there was quite a bit to do before they moved on to the next job, and if James wanted to keep them on schedule—and James always, always wanted to keep his father’s company on schedule—he needed to check on the delivery of that claw-foot tub.

He pulled out his phone and opened the calendar function.

“Ahem.”

“I’m not calling anyone,” he said, not bothering to so much as glance over at her. He didn’t have to. He’d been on the receiving end of his mother’s do-not-mess-with-me look often enough that he could feel it—he didn’t need to see it. Moms. Nothing diminished their kick-ass powers. Not even celebrations of their child’s birth. “I’m just making a note.”

His entire family ragged him endlessly about how often he was on his phone. How the hell did they think so many things got done if he didn’t have his notes and reminders and schedules to keep the company on track?

He put the phone in his pocket, picked his cake up again only to freeze—the fork raised halfway to his mouth—to find Rose staring at him as if his brain had leaked from his ears and oozed onto the custom-built butcher block topping the center island.

“What?”

“I can’t believe you spent a good twenty minutes in conversation with Anne and the only thing you can say is that she’s—” Rose’s mouth twisted “—capable.”

He ate the bite of cake. Silently urged the coffee to hurry up and brew. “What’s wrong with capable? You want us to work with inept subcontractors?”

She grabbed cream from the stainless-steel fridge, slammed the door shut. An attractive woman despite the extra pounds in her hips and thighs, her face was a softer, rounder version of the beautiful girl she’d once been. Her chin-length hair was still dark, her face showing only faint signs of age. “I want you to notice when there’s an attractive, intelligent, interesting, single woman right in front of you.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You said you invited her because she’s new in town.”

“She is.”

“And because Kloss’s recently hired her.”

“They did.”

“And because you wanted us to get to know her, since we’ll be working with her so closely at Bradford House.”

Rose added her delicate china sugar bowl—the one James and his brothers had bought for Mother’s Day a good twenty years ago to replace the one they’d broken during an impromptu, and ill-advised, indoor game of soccer—to a large serving tray. “I’m well aware of what I said.”

“You forgot to mention you were setting me up with her,” he said in a thoughtful, patient and completely reasonable tone. He was nothing if not a thoughtful, patient and reasonable man, damn it.

He stabbed another bite of cake.

“No one has set you up. All I did was invite Anne to the party for all the reasons I mentioned and you so helpfully repeated. If you two hit it off, great. If not...” She shrugged, though the look she shot him clearly said if he didn’t hit it off with Anne, he was an idiot. “No harm done, then.”

“You’re sneaky.”

“I prefer to think of it as multitasking. I help someone new to town feel welcome, introduce her to a few friends and possibly help you find your future wife.”

He set his empty plate aside. “Sneaky and scary.”

“Relax. No one’s forcing you to the altar. I’m just showing you an option.”

Thunder boomed and his sweet-natured dog, Zoe, a German shepherd/husky mix, whined and nudged the side of his leg. He patted her head, but kept his gaze on his mother. “Anyone ever tell you you’d make a hell of a used-car salesperson?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” She set cups and saucers on the tray. “Why don’t you open a couple more bottles of wine and take them around to the guests? Make sure one is merlot.”