“That’s what happens with five brothers who don’t cook, only one of whom is married.” Iona worked with a corkscrew for several seconds before the cork popped out. “If my mom were still with us and I weren’t the only girl, everyone would bring a dish and no one would think it’s a big deal. Boys are nothing but a pain in the butt. Double pains in the butt when they become men.”
The tears Sophie had forced back seconds earlier reared their heads again. She looked down, opened her purse, and pretended to search for something, anything, so that Iona wouldn’t notice. She spotted the unopened travel pack of tissues and went after one. “Stupid men,” she managed without her voice giving her away.
Iona set two full glasses of wine on the table, then settled into the seat across from her. She lifted her glass, presumably to offer a toast, but froze when Sophie met her eyes. “Sophie, what’s wrong?”
Sophie blew out all the air in her lungs. “Damn.”
Iona set her glass down and put her hand over Sophie’s. “Tell me.”
Sophie’s lip quivered, and she fought to get it under control. “This isn’t why I came over…”
“It’s okay.”
“Or maybe it is. I hate this.” She dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a tissue.
“I have cookies. This looks like cookies might be required. How about if I get those while you work out what you want to say.”
“Cookies,” Sophie said, about to remind Iona she didn’t eat cookies. “Bring ’em on.”
When Iona sat back down, Sophie had taken several warm, calming sips of wine and felt like she might be able to speak without losing it.
“Chocolate chip, gingerbread, and scotcheroos.”
“You baked these?” Sophie picked up a scotcheroo and savored the first heavenly bite.
“For Thanksgiving. Because even though we go out, there’s always a time and place for homemade cookies. Now what’s going on, Sophie? You can tell me.”
Sophie took another bite first. And another. Because this homemade cookie was one thousand times better than talking about herself. When Iona leaned forward to stare accusingly into her eyes, she swallowed her carbs and sat up straighter.
“I ended it with Nate,” she said in a rush, before she could get all closed-throat again.
Iona stopped chewing mid-bite, her eyes going huge. “Firefighter Nate?”
The way she said it, scandalized, as if to say who would ever break up with a firefighter, almost made Sophie grin. “The one and only.”
“Shit, Soph. Forget cookies. I can see if I have tequila.” She started to get up, but Sophie stopped her.
“It’s okay. It’s for the best. My condo was just … mocking me.”
“Times like those, living alone sucks.”
Sophie nodded, astounded by how well this woman got her. And just having someone understand … well, strangely enough, it helped.
“I’m so glad you came over. Now tell me all about it. What happened?”
Three more sips later, Sophie decided what the hell. She told her most of the story, skipping over her brother’s confession — because that was mostly irrelevant — and sex details. It was embarrassing enough to admit they’d done the deed multiple times.
“Okay, let me make sure I’ve got it straight. Sex was fantabulous?”
“And then some.”
“But then afterward, there was a role reversal, and he wanted to talk, but you didn’t?”
Sophie grinned weakly. “Pretty much.”
“But he backed off.”
“Yes. For now. But…”
