A rueful smile crossed Lucia’s lips. “Yeah. Skye bitched about that. She told me to hand it over, asking if I wanted to die for it.”
“I suppose there’s something to be said for her after all.”
“She’s not that bad,” Lucia said with a chuckle. “Well, you know… Maybe an acquired taste.”
“You’re the expert.”
Lucia’s smile slipped. “There’s nothing between us.”
“What?”
“Between me and Skye, well, besides ancient history, and apparently I’m a tank.”
Penelope wrinkled her brow. “Again, what?”
“Sorry, never mind. Just…I wanted you to know there’s nothing going on between me and Skye. In case you wondered.”
“I didn’t, but thank you.” Penelope smiled. “I just don’t care for the way she treats you, but you don’t need me to fight your battles.”
“No, I don’t. But…you could hold my hand?”
“That can be arranged.”
Lucia’s answering smile was arresting.
“Besides, we’re grown women. I assume we both have a past,” Penelope said.
“True. What about you? Any exes we might run into?”
“Not really. It’s been a while.” Penelope frowned. “Huh. It’s been longer than I realized. And I hope you won’t run into my ex.”
“Why? I’m not the jealous type, and if you dated her, she can’t be all bad.”
Penelope let out a small laugh. “That’s a good line.”
“It’s not. A line, I mean. I’m serious.”
“You’re sweet.”
Lucia ducked her head.
“No, Camille is a detective with the Atlanta police.”
“Oh. Yeah. Let’s not meet.”
“Agreed.”
“Do you want to move this to the couch? Can I offer you a glass of wine, maybe? That is, if you’re staying a bit longer.” Penelope asked.
“Sure. And I’d love to. I’m not picky about wine, so if you already have one open, I’m good with that.”
“Even if it’s a Barolo?”
“While I drink all kinds of wine, that doesn’t mean I know a lot of them, much to Francesca’s exasperation. Never mind that she rarely even drinks alcohol.”
“She might be especially frustrated you don’t know this one. It’s Italian.”
“Then let this be our little secret.”
