Page 37 of Stealing Blinds

“He’s just a friend,” the crooked traitor squawks while my mother lays an ice pack on my ankle.

It’s time to pull out the big guns, or this will backfire fast. “Just because you two can’t manage a platonic relationship with a penis owner doesn’t mean I inherited the trait. Where is Tom?”

To be fair, both of them lost their husbands far too early. And both look younger than their years. My mother has a youthful hippie vibe. She could’ve been plucked right out of Woodstock. That’s probably where her bra is anyway. That’s not her generation, but the image fits. And Luella’s flawless brown skin, thick eyelashes, and long legs are the envy of all. She modeled until her early thirties, but she quit to raise her son. Now she has men in their twenties throwing themselves at her.

“It’s Ted,” my mother corrects, not the least bit offended that I can’t keep track of her flings. “And he took the boat down to Key West for a few days. So …”

They stare at me until I spill a minimal story so we can move on. I tell them the finer points of Peter’s party—the tango, the drinks, the friendship agreement, and Cash dropping me off in the parking lot of my hotel. There’s no need to mention the partner-in-crime tidbits or the insane possessiveness that the Noire god flaunted.

“Oh”—my mother flaps her hand—“is that all?”

I’d say that’s an odd response from her, but the thing is, there is no bar for normal.

Luella smirks at me, and the two of them launch a much more entertaining narrative of their latest adventures while I happily listen.

Forty-five minutes later, when the ice pack is warm, the sky is navy, and the wine is dwindling, the doorbell rings. Maybe Ted forgot his key.

“I have to get going anyway, so I’ll get it,” Luella volunteers, squeezing my arm as she passes. “I’ve got plans this evening, but I’ll drop in again soon.”

“Bye, Lou.” I hold up my empty wineglass to my mother for a refill, and she complies. “One more. Then I’m going to take a shower and forget about this awful day.”

She’s about to say something when we both get distracted by boisterous talking, and a moment later, Luella peeks back in.

“Here you go,” she says before side-eyeing me. “I scrounged up some cash, Sylvie.”

Oh dear Lord.

And who should appear? None other than the Noire stalker himself.

I bolt up, one hand on my hip, the other clutching my wine. “What are you doing here?”

“That greeting is getting a little tired, baby.” His gaze rakes down my body, burning a trail over my curves that even trumps his insistence to call me baby in the way of suggestiveness. “No matter what you wear—ballgown or tube top and shorts—you’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, Palmer.” As if he knows he’s knocking the wind out of me, he scoops me up and sets me back in the chair, leaning down to talk to me face-to-face. “You can yell at me from there, but you shouldn’t be on your ankle.”

“You are ridiculous,” I jeer.

“I was just thinking the same thing. What kind of a horrible man compliments you and tells you to get off your feet?” My mother stands, admiring Cash with far too much mischief in her tone. “Your absurdity aside, it’s an honor to meet you.”

Cash chuckles, rises, turns on the charm, and offers her his hand. “The pleasure is all mine. I’m Cash Noire.”

“Oh, I know who you are.” Her lips buckle with mirth, which causes him to twist toward me with a gloating grin.

But he gets sidetracked from the greeting when his attention trips over the shelf of treasures. And the Mardi Gras mask atop it. His eyes widen with what appears to be … awe.

My brows arch in challenge. “That’s a beautiful mask, isn’t it? I snagged that when I visited New Orleans. And I knew my mother would love it. She and my dad honeymooned there.”

“We sure did,” my mother agrees.

Cash saunters toward it, a slight tint of shock staining his face. “Well, I bet that took some effort to find, Sly. I’ve never seen another one quite like it.”

“It’s a one of a kind,” my mother fills in. “My husband and I fell in love with it and each other back in—well, no sense in sharing the year. Many moons ago. We met and were married there within forty-eight hours.”

Cash is bewildered, and while I’m not thrilled he chased me down—again—I am enjoying this.

“I’m Sylvie’s mother, by the way.” She extends her hand this time. “Since she didn’t introduce me.”

He moves back toward her, slipping his palm into hers. “It’s a pleasure, ma’am.”

“Oh, dear, none of that in this house.” She releases him and shoos that away. “Call me Sterling.”