“It’s not really your ass that hurts,” Annabelle said in a mock whisper.
Charlie rolled her eyes. “Thanks for the update.”
“I thought you were hearing the pitter-patter of little feet,” Heidi said.
Charlie ran her hands through her cropped hair. “We’re still negotiating.” The strong, competent firefighter flushed. “Clay is worried that once I’m pregnant we’re going to have to, um, spend less time…you know. He wants a few more months of us alone.”
Evie stared at her, not sure what she was talking about. Wouldn’t they still be alone during the pregnancy?
Annabelle leaned toward her. “Sex. She’s talking about sex. Clay’s worried that Charlie might have morning sickness or something and he won’t be getting as much. They need the bloom to wear off the rose, so to speak.”
Evie covered her ears. “Okay, I’m not having that conversation. Clay’s my brother and that’s just disgusting.”
The other three laughed.
Conversation shifted to the plans for the day—what was happening when. The four of them walked over to get started on the buffet.
“Oh, Dante said he’d drive you, if you want,” Heidi told Evie. “He said to knock on his door when you were ready.”
“Thanks.”
She hadn’t seen Dante since their trip to the warehouse a couple of days before. Despite the flirtatious teasing at the dance studio, once they’d arrived to view the sets, he’d been all business. His claims to have worked in construction had turned out to be true. He’d studied the sets, had taken notes on what needed to be fixed and started a preliminary supply list.
All things that would help, Evie told herself. She had a big job ahead of her, and she didn’t have the time to complicate her life with a guy. Still, there was something about Dante....
Something best left unexplored, she cautioned herself. A philosophy he obviously embraced. For all his flirty ways, after the set viewing, he’d simply dropped her off at her place with a quick goodbye and left. Apparently the only thing he’d exaggerated had been his attraction to her.
Evie collected a small piece of stuffed French toast and some bacon. Heidi chose a lot of protein, while Charlie filled her plate with food for twenty. Annabelle kept touching her stomach, as if trying to figure out what she and the baby were in the mood for.
Five women walked in together, and most of those already in the bar called out greetings. Heidi moved close to Evie.
“The Hendrix family women,” she murmured. “Denise is the mother. The three who look exactly alike are triplets. Dakota, Montana and Nevada. Nevada’s the one who’s pregnant. The one who doesn’t look like the others is Liz Sutton, the writer. She’s married to Denise’s oldest son.”
The women looked happy to be together, Evie thought, watching them. The sisters and sister-in-law seemed especially close and kept near their mom.
She knew her brothers had grown up tight and, even when Rafe was at his most imperious, had kept in touch with the other brothers. She’d always been the odd one out. Never fitting in. As a kid, she’d felt as if everyone was mad at her all the time, but she never knew why.
She started back to the table, only to come to a stop in front of her mother.
“Hello, Evie,” May said with a tentative smile.
“Um, hi. I didn’t know you were going to be here.”
“I drove in after Heidi. I wanted to get a few things started for dinner tonight.”
Evie nodded, wondering if her sister-in-law had known May was coming to the brunch all along, but had failed to mention it. Had Heidi made that clear, Evie would have found a reason not to attend.
Evie started to step around her. May put her hand on her arm.
“Wait,” her mother said. “Evie, we should talk.” May glanced around at the crowded bar. “Maybe not here. But soon.”
Evie looked for a place to set down her plate. She’d suddenly lost her appetite. “There’s not very much for us to talk about.”
“Of course there is. It’s been so long. I want…” May drew in a breath. “I’d like us to stop being angry with each other.”
To anyone else, that was probably a very reasonable statement. Evie fought against the sudden rush of tears in her eyes. “Sure. But first answer me a question. What do you have to be mad about? Me being born? Because that’s not anything I could control.”
May stiffened. “That came out wrong. I’m sorry.”
Evie shook her head. “I don’t think it came out wrong at all. I think you’ve been angry with me for a long time. As for talking, as far as I’m concerned, until you can tell me what it is you think I did, we have nothing to say to each other.”
With that she walked back to the table. She set down her plate, picked up her champagne glass and drained it. Then she went in search of a refill.
* * *
“ARE YOU DRUNK?” Dante asked.
Evie leaned back into the soft leather of his very expensive, very German car. She’d been driving the same dented, slightly rusty old Chevy for nearly five years. The seats were more spring than foam, the windows didn’t close right and the mechanic actually sighed every time she took her car in for service.
“This is nice,” she said, stroking the side of the heated seat. “I’ll try not to throw up.”
“Gee, thanks,” Dante said, turning his attention back to the road. “You are drunk.”
“I’m buzzed. There’s a difference.”
“It’s one in the afternoon.”
“I was at a brunch and there was champagne. Plus I had a fight with my mom and that took away my appetite.” She frowned, or at least tried to. She couldn’t exactly feel her forehead. “We didn’t fight. Not really. She said we should stop being mad at each other. I’m the kid. What did I ever do? That’s what I asked. Is she pissed I was born? But she didn’t have an answer. There’s never a good reason, you know?”
She turned to Dante and blinked. “What were we talking about?”
“You need to eat something.”
“Turkey. I’ll eat turkey.”
“That’ll help.” He glanced at her. “She said she was angry?”
Evie tried to remember May’s exact words. “She said she would like us to stop being angry at each other. Being annoyed at me is kind of implied.”
“Poor kid.” Dante briefly put his hand on top of hers.
For a second Evie enjoyed the warmth of the contact, then the meaning of his words sank into her slightly soggy brain. Poor kid? Poor kid? Is that how he saw her? As a child? What happened to her being a sexy vixen? Not that he’d ever used that phrase, but still. He’d implied she was. Or at least her dancer work clothes. She didn’t want to be a kid. She wanted to be vixeny. Vixenish. Whatever.
She leaned her head back against the seat and sighed. Life was far from fair.
Two hours later she’d munched her way through a fair amount of the veggie platter Heidi had put out and finished off about a half gallon of water. The buzz was long gone, as was the faint headache that had followed. Through careful maneuvering, she’d managed to avoid spending any time alone with her mother. Oddly enough, Dante had helped more than a little. He’d stuck beside her from the second they walked in the door.
Painfully aware that his concern was more fraternal than