“We could organize local attorneys to provide pro bono services. A lot of the bigger firms encourage their associates to do freebie work. They’d eat up the positive PR,” Lina pointed out.
Naomi and I shared a knowing grin.
“What?” Lina asked.
“You said ‘we,’” I said.
She grimaced. “Shut up. Don’t make me regret befriending you pains in the ass. Besides, my last bonus was embarrassingly huge. I guess I wouldn’t hate putting part of it toward a good cause.”
“Great. Now I’ll look like Scrooge McCheapskate if I don’t cough up some cash too,” Stef complained.
“We won’t judge you,” Naomi promised.
“Yes, we will,” I said.
“Fine. I’ll pony up. But I hope you know this means downsizing my real estate budget.”
“What real estate budget?” Lina demanded.
Stef shrugged and looked at his suede boots. “I maybe kind of am starting to possibly consider the idea of someday broaching the subject about moving in with Jeremiah.”
Naomi let out a high-pitched squeak and was immediately shushed by Stef.
He looked furtively over his shoulder in the direction of the blender sounds. “Zip it, Witty!”
“Sorry,” she whispered, eyes shining.
“I knew things were getting serious since you’re here all the damn time,” Lina pointed out.
“Well, they’re serious for me, but I don’t know how serious they are for my hot, bearded, barber boyfriend.”
“He’s crazy about you,” Naomi insisted, her voice still squeaky.
“You two hot dudes are head over heels for each other,” I said, keeping my voice low.
Stef looked both hopeful and nauseated. “We haven’t really discussed a future. But I want us to have one. What do I do? Ask if I can move into his bachelor pad, which by the way looks like it was furnished by some renegade rebel motorcycle gang? Seriously, who has a diamond-plate steel coffee table? You can’t even slide a wineglass across it. Besides, won’t I come off like some crazy stalker if I’m all like ‘Hey, can I move in with you?’”
“I’ll be honest. The whole spending fifteen days a month here when you technically live in New York is a lot more crazy stalker-y than buying property here,” I pointed out. “Honestly, I can’t believe you let me ramble on and on about my ovaries and my dead dad for that long without bringing this up.”
Stef snorted. “I know. Geez, Sloane. Stop making everything about your recently departed father already.”
We were all still laughing when Jeremiah returned with the blender and the pizza.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, handing me the entire pizza tray.
“Oh, I was just telling everyone what Knox did during the last snowstorm,” Naomi said innocently.
4
Ambushes and Angels
Lucian
It’s showtime,” Nash said, stifling a yawn as another gun battle raged on screen.
My gaze flicked to the laptop on the ottoman. Sloane’s front door was open, and five bundled-up adults appeared to be tiptoeing down the porch steps.
The smallest of the shadowy figures drew my attention. Just as she always did.
“My wife insists they’re getting ready for bed,” Knox said, holding up his phone.
“Your wife and my fiancée are beautiful liars,” Nash said, getting up to stretch.
The dogs perked up on the couch, sensing the activity around them.
“It’s eleven o’clock at night during a snowstorm. How much trouble could they get into?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t put it past them to hack into a nuclear reactor,” Knox muttered, heading for the foyer.
Nash followed. “Never a dull moment,” he said fondly.
I watched them stagger and stomp their way toward my place. I sighed and rubbed my hands over my thighs. Waylon peered at me from under one long, floppy ear, begging me with sad brown eyes to stay on the couch so he wouldn’t be forced to go outside.
“Sorry, Waylon,” I told the dog and headed after the Morgans.
“You joining us in the lady wrangling?” Nash asked as he pulled on his boots.
“You’re outnumbered,” I pointed out. “My gear is in the mudroom. I’ll meet you out there.”
“Hang on,” Knox said. He was peering through the sidelight window. “They’re behind my truck. I can’t tell what they’re doing.”
“Smells like an ambush to me,” Nash said, shrugging into his coat.