She collided with Trey in the doorway. He steadied her, rescuing the chips from spilling. Beth blushed and thanked him, ducking under his arm to carry the bowl to the living room. It struck me—not for the first time—how good he was with her.
And then—definitely for the first time—how good she would be for him. How good they could be for each other. He would take care of her. She would admire him.
Maybe Trey had fallen for the wrong sister.
Huh.
“Get out,” I said. “I have work to do.”
He held up his hands in an I-come-in-peace gesture. “Come on, Jo, don’t be like that.” He flashed his boyish, ingratiating smile. “I’ve missed you.”
The words, the familiar smile, went straight to my heart. I grabbed the pasta off the stove and drained it in the sink, raising a cloud of steam. My cheeks flushed from the heat. Or maybe that was annoyance.
“I missed you, too,” I admitted.
He propped his lean hips against the counter, hanging around the way he always did. Teasing. Distracting. In my way.
I hefted the pot. “Move your ass, Laurence.”
He shifted a few inches to avoid getting burned. “So you’re a cook now.”
“Among other things.” I banged the pot onto an empty burner. Adjusted the heat under the roux. “I write a food blog.”
He nodded.“Hungry.”
I was pleased. Surprised.Hungry: Taking a Bite Out of the Big Applewas the name of my blog. “You read it?”
“Your sister said something about it.” He plucked a shred of cheese from the bowl. “Mm. Good. What happened to the newspaper gig?”
I slapped his hand away. “The paper downsized. I was let go.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
I shrugged. “You were ignoring my texts. Anyway, I figured it was better if you didn’t know.”
“Better for what? Your pride?”
He had never understood my determination to stand on my own two feet. Never accepted my decision to move to New York in the first place.
I looked up from the cheese sauce to meet his gaze. “Our friendship.”
Our eyes locked. He smiled a little crookedly. “Fair enough.”
I took a quick survey of the kitchen: turkey resting, green beans and gravy keeping warm, butter melting on mashed potatoes. Glanced again at the clock. “Tell me about you,” I said. “How was Italy?”
“It was all right.”
“That doesn’t sound very enthusiastic. I thought you were looking forward to seeing Europe.”
“I was looking forward to seeing Europe with you.”
I sighed. “Trey, we’ve been through all this. I have to work. I have a job.”
“Not anymore. Not a real job.”
Ouch.My teeth gritted. “Thanks, pal. I appreciate your support.”
He pushed away from the counter, catching my hands again. His were warm and firm. “Come on, Jo, I didn’t mean it that way. Iwantto support you, I swear I do. Let me prove it. Let’s do it. It’s not too late. Let’s take that trip we always talked about in college.”
