“I was just about to call you,” Mya said as she approached.
“Sorry I’m late.” Phil hugged her, barely getting her arms around her pregnant friend. “I had a couple of things to take care of before coming over.”
“They’re still in the first quarter,” Mya said, waving off her concern. She took the bag of chips from Phil and motioned to follow her to the kitchen. “Besides,” she continued in a teasing voice, “I know how much you were justdyingto come over and watch football.”
“Been looking forward to it all week,” Phil said with exaggeratedly false brightness.
A football fan she was not. But when Mya had asked her to join them for the always highly anticipated New Orleans Saints versus Atlanta Falcons game, Phil had agreed. It had been several weeks since she’d had a chance to hang out with her friend. After being apart for fifteen years, Phil was trying to make up for lost time with Mya.
“How are you feeling?” she asked as Mya scooted onto a barstool and snatched a pig-in-a-blanket from a tray.
“Fat,” Mya answered. “And don’t tell me I’m not.”
Phil looked her up and down from across the bar. “I wasn’t going to. We made a pact never to lie to each other, remember?”
Mya gasped. “Thanks a lot.”
“Oh, stop it,” Phil said. “You look gorgeous, and you’ll have a cute little baby in just three months. That’s worth whatever pounds you gain.”
“I’m starting to think this baby doesn’t like me,” Mya said. “The way she kicks at night—I don’t think they’re your normal baby kicks. This little rascal has it in for me.”
Phil slid off the stool and came around the bar to rub Mya’s burgeoning belly. “Don’t call my goddaughter a rascal. She is going to be the perfect little lady, just like her auntie Phil. I already bought her a hammer with a pink rhinestone handle.”
Mya laughed. “Speaking of hammers, how are things going with the restoration, Auntie Phil?”
“Okay.” Phil shrugged.
“Just okay? Knowing Jamal, I’m expecting Belle Maison to look like something fromThe Jetsons. I’ll bet you’ll be able to turn the shower on from your cellphone.”
Phil rolled her eyes. “Please, don’t give him any ideas. His strawboard walls and stockpile of squiggly fluorescent light bulbs are bad enough.”
“I knew the two of you would butt heads when it came to Belle Maison.” Mya laughed again. “To be honest, I’m still surprised you sold it. I always loved that house.”
“So did I,” Phil said.
Her conscience poked at her. She and Mya didn’t keep secrets from each other. Although Phil had learned that her friend had indeed kept a very big secret from her fifteen years ago—the fact that she’d gotten pregnant and miscarried Corey’s baby back when they were in high school—this was different. They weren’t a couple of teenagers. But she wasn’t sure she could handle it if Mya looked at her with derision when she learned how stupid Phil had been to land herself in such a bind.
Before she could say anything, Corey came into the kitchen, with Jamal following closely behind.
“You’re missing a good game, baby,” Corey said, planting a kiss on Mya’s temple. He turned to Phil and gave her the same kiss. “What force of nature draggedyouhere to watch a football game?”
She nodded toward Mya. “The same one that used to drag me to the Gauthier High football games on Friday nights.”
“You don’t like football?” Jamal asked. He reached over and snagged a tortilla chip from the bowl on the bar, and his elbow brushed her arm. A shiver coursed through her body.
Okay, this was getting to be ridiculous. She’d worked side by side with the man for several weeks. Why in the hell were these goosebumps traveling along her skin from a simple brush of his elbow? It was embarrassing.
Even so, Phil couldn’t stop the rush of heat that came over her. She looked up to find a curious smile tipping up the corners of Mya’s mouth.
Oh, great.That was just what she needed. She was tempted to claim a headache and go home, but knowing Mya, she would waddle her way over to Phil’s house and hound her there.
Corey nudged Mya’s arm. “Did you tell Jamal about the email you got yesterday?” he asked.
“Oh, right!” Mya said, twisting the barstool to face Jamal. “I got an email from a church group in Alabama. They’re considering stopping in Gauthier on their tour of the African American Heritage Trail at the end of November. Think we’ll have somewhere for them to spend the night?”
Phil noticed the trace of apprehension that crossed Jamal’s face.
“Yes,” she answered before he had a chance to speak. He whipped his head around, his eyes wide with surprise. “The restoration is coming along pretty well, don’t you think?” she asked him.
