“But—”
“In a disguise.”
She blinked. “A disguise?”
“I bought some things from the hotel gift shop.” I passed over a small shopping bag.
She pulled out my purchases one by one. Sunglasses, a head scarf with dragonflies on it, a “Home of Motown” ball cap, and a key ring.
She held up that last item. “‘I heart Detroit.’ Not sure I do.”
“If you conceive this weekend, you’re going to be head over heels for Detroit. I figured that might be our good luck charm.”
I hadn’t meant to say “our”—or any of it, really. But when I saw the key ring, I thought it might be a good omen, like a rabbit’s foot. Minimum, it couldn’t hurt.
“I’m a scientist. Good luck charms aren’t really in my wheelhouse.”
“Well, I’m an athlete and good luck charms are definitely in mine. We’re a superstitious lot. I always tie my laces in a certain way, with a triple loop, and I say a little prayer between each tie-off.” At her skeptical look, I added, “It works seventy percent of the time.”
She turned the key ring over in her hands. “Maybe I need to get superstitious.” Her gaze strayed to the sunglasses. “This might draw more attention to me.”
“Better to have attention than recognition. Wrap up your hair because that shade is kind of striking.”
Now why on earth did I say that? Immediately the energy shifted in the car, the air charged and thick.
She touched her hair tentatively. “It’s just dark brown. Nothing special.”
I passed over her comment because I sure as hell wasn’t going to convince her that there was no such thing as “dark brown, nothing special” about Francesca St. James’s hair. It had coppery highlights that reminded me of Fall and pumpkins, though I could have been distracted by the start of hockey season. What did I know?
Using the rearview mirror, she tied the scarf so it covered her hair. Kind of grandma Babushka, but then she added the sunglasses, and it was all French New Wave glamour. We tried it with and without the Motown hat and decided to go without.
Outside the car, she popped the trunk, and I pulled out her roller board.
“How do you feel?”
She chewed on her lip. I couldn’t see her eyes behind the sunglasses, but I got an impression of enjoyment.
“It’s like we’re planning a heist.”
“The Great Baby Making Caper. Starring the Muppets. As in us.”
That made her giggle. I hadn’t heard her laughing much, but it had a husky quality that hit me right in the balls.
“Thanks for coming to my rescue.”
“We’re not out of the woods yet, Doc. I’ll head up to the lobby, and then you follow and check in. Text me your room number when you have it.”
I turned to go. Every cell in my body screamed at me to look over my shoulder, but I wasn’t sure I’d like what I saw there. Better to stride forth and not get tangled up in whatever was making my pulse thump wildly.
Because this was one of those hotels where you had to switch elevators at the lobby, I planned to loiter in the gift shop while I waited for Franky’s text. But I hadn’t reckoned on how disasters happen in multiples.
As soon as the doors opened, I ran into my nephew Conor.
“J-man!” We fist bumped and hugged.
Now, I loved all my niblings, but I had a soft spot for Connie, probably because he reminded me most of my big brother. The kid had inherited Theo’s talent as well as his exuberance and no-filter way of looking at things. He was starting his maiden season with Detroit, and he was as excited as a puppy in a pile of leaves.
With a guiding hand on his back, I walked several feet away from the elevator because this was a little close for comfort. “Hey, kid, you jazzed for the game?”
