The rest of the women stopped what they were doing and looked at Barb expectantly.
“Well?” Carol sank down onto a barstool. “What did he say?”
“Oh, the usual,” Barb said. “That he didn’t understand. And that we’re supposed to get up to six inches of snow.”
Carol snorted loudly. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”
June shook her head. “He takes the cake, Barb.”
This was not a conversation Harrison wanted to hear. He bent down to pick up Duchess, then backed out of the kitchen with the ready excuse that he was taking the dog out for her morning constitutional. No one stopped him, as they were hanging on every word Barb said; she had launched into a complete retelling of the conversation she’d had with Bob.
On the deck, he put Duchess down and wrapped his arms around himself. It was cold. In the kitchen, there was a sudden cacophony of pots and pans banging around, so much so that it sounded like major construction was underway.
“What is all that racket?”
He looked up; Amy had come out of the studio. Hands on hips, she frowned in the direction of the kitchen.
“Well, hello,” Harrison said, and came down the steps to where she was standing in front of the studio. “When I didn’t see you this morning, I thought you’d escaped and left me stranded.”
She smiled wryly. “I would not leave you stranded. If I could escape, I’d grab you and your little dog, too.”
“I appreciate it.”
Something inside crashed on the tile floor, and they jumped. “What the hell?” Amy asked.
“They’re making cinnamon rolls.”
“With a sledgehammer?”
He glanced toward the kitchen. “Not sure.”
She sighed. She moved closer. “I have some bad news, Harrison.”
His first thought was that he appreciated she made the effort to say his name and not boil him down to a letter. His second thought was a real fear she was going to leave. He didn’t want her to leave. He very much wanted her to stay. “Sounds ominous. What is it?”
“They aren’t going shopping today after all.” She winced as if it physically pained her to impart the news.
“Yeah, I heard.”
“No, you don’t understand. They’re going to hang out in the pool because, June said, with the winter storm coming, they want to take advantage. Which means two things, you realize.”
“Sure,” he said, nodding. Then, “It does?”
“One, that they are going to be underfoot all day,” she said, holding up a finger. “And two, that they are clearly planning on staying more than a couple of days.” She held up another finger.
When she put it like that—the “more than a couple of days” part—he had to agree, that was not ideal. It was downright annoying. “At least they won’t be in the studio, right?”
She dropped her hand. “No, but…but that’s not how art works. I can’t be my most creative self while wondering what the Bossy Posse is going to do next.”
“Yeah,” he said, and ran a hand over his head. He had no idea what it took to make art, but he could imagine that would be a problem.
“You can’t be okay with this. It’s an invasion of privacy, and we…” She hesitated, bit her lip, and looked toward the house again. “All right, I’m just going to say it. We had a good thing going, right?”
“The best.” Was that even a question? “I think we still do. Don’t you?”
“I mean, I hope so? But how will we…” She glanced off. “How will we…you know.”
“Have sex?”
