With his errand done, Nadine thought he would leave to go back out to Dot. Instead, he walked over to a tea tray on one of the tables and checked the water, waiting until she was done with the flowers. Wes groaned as he lifted the tray. “If I drop this, kill me. I’ll never make enough money to replace it.”
“What, that?” The serviceable, simple white ceramic looked like it came from IKEA.
“It’s a Stoneman Aufort set from 1950. Trust me.”
“Seriously?” She eyed it.
“I did a story on their collectability, and while I am happy to discuss the comparative value of midcentury tea sets, can we do it later? My arms are going to fall off.”
“I don’t want to know about Amfort tea sets,” she snapped.
“It’s Aufort, and I’m not surprised. You probably microwave water for tea and leave the bag in while you drink. Now can youplease open the door?”
Chafing at what she knew was an insult although she couldn’t identify why—hot water was hot water, and sometimes she liked a strong brew—Nadine took her revenge by sauntering over to the door as Wes grappled with the tray behind her.
“Damn these cats,” he muttered as a dark shape crossed in front of his feet.
She looked through to see Dot on the settee, head bent sideways and forward. “Wes?” she whispered.
“What?” He came up beside her and followed her gaze. “Jesus. Oh no.”
A snore erupted, and they sagged with relief.
He glanced over. “By the way, do you know CPR?”
“Yes.”
He passed into the room. “Good to know.”
There was a low table in front of Dot, and she woke when Wes put down the tray. “Cream and sugar?” he asked, holding the tongs over the cubes.
“Of course. I’m no animal.” Dot took a wafer-thin shortbread cookie and ate it with satisfaction before handing the plate to Wes. “You need to eat up,” she said. “Doesn’t your girlfriend feed you?”
“Thank you.” Wes took one. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Big shock,” muttered Nadine.
“Boyfriend?” Dot frowned. “You tell him for me that just because he’s a man, it doesn’t mean he can’t look after you. That’s their job if they love you.”
“I’m not dating anyone, but I agree with your philosophy,” said Wes casually, as if discussing his love life with famous authors was an everyday occurrence.
Maybe it was. Nadine looked at him closely, realizing that although she’d known him for years, she never really got toknowWes Chen. He passed the plate back to Dot, holding it at a comfortable height for her arm as she selected another cookie. Well, not that it mattered. They wouldn’t be working together for more than a couple of weeks.
He deliberately didn’t offer Nadine a cookie but put the plate down and angled his chair to face Dot in a rookie power move designed to crowd Nadine out of the conversation. When she dragged her seat forward, he shifted his shoulders to block her. Nadine kept her expression neutral as she moved to a new chair closer to Dot. Take that.
Two weeks was more than enough time to spend with Wes.
Ten
Wes ate through the plate of biscuits—they were too fancy to be mere cookies—with Dot’s encouragement as they chatted about world politics and how Dot hated the baying dogs of the neighbor next door, who, Wes learned, was a manufacturing billionaire who drove around in an electric Hummer. She seemed in good spirits, occasionally adjusting the transparent oxygen tube under her nose as though it was second nature.
Dot was easy to talk to, and Wes wasn’t surprised she was well-versed in topics from the Romantic poets to the latest municipal controversy. He didn’t mind when she continued to call him handsome, especially when he saw how it exasperated Nadine. Dot didn’t make him feel dirty or used or like a toy. It was more like the teasing of a socially awkward but affectionate great-aunt.
Finally, Nadine gave him an impatient look that was easy to interpret aslet’s get this show on the road. It was time to broach the subject they were there for with the predetermined question he and Nadine had agreed on. He’d won the digital coin toss to decide who would getto ask, although Nadine had insisted on taking it to best of three, then five when she kept losing.
“Ah,” Dot said as two more cats chased in. “You’re in luck. Erma doesn’t often like visitors. She’s the black cat. Sidonie-Gabrielle is the tuxedo. She rarely comes out as well.”
“Hello, Erma, Sidonie-Gabrielle,” said Nadine, bending down and putting out her hand, which the cats ignored.
