Jane snorted. “I don’t think giving Gabe Sutton a booty call would be a good idea. Besides, I’m on a sabbatical from men.”
Shae waggled her brows. “What’s that old saying? When you fall off a horse, you need to climb right back on? Screw Todd. You should have slammed the barn door behind him long ago. You’ve got a cowboy all saddled up and looking for a rider. I say, climb on board and enjoy.”
Jane blinked and shook her head. “I’m having a little trouble following your mixed metaphors.”
“Very funny, Professor Whitmore. My point is, you never cared about Todd. Why let him turn you off men?”
She flopped onto the couch with a sigh. In truth, she hadn’t thought of Todd since he’d stormed from her parents’ house. “I’m not turned off of men. I’m dealing with other things, like Gabe Sutton trying to track me down and my mother not speaking to me. Oh, and I’m preoccupied, what with another human being sharing my body and all.”
Shae waved a dismissive hand. “Your mother is forever not talking to you.”
True. Didn’t make it easier to handle.
“You do plan to tell Gabe about the baby, right?”
Panic twisted the muscles of Jane’s belly. Her eyes slid shut. “He has a right to know, but I need a few days to think.”
“I’ll call him and set up a meeting.” Shae held up a hand to head off her objection. “I initiated this train wreck. I’ll damn well be there to take responsibility and help with the cleanup. Will this Sunday work?”
Nausea threatened to choke her, but she nodded.
****
“So, this is how the other half lives?”
Jane grinned at Tina where they stood at the edge of the open, retractable wall leading to the glass-enclosed rooftop patio of the exclusive Park Avenue address. Melanie Archer, the host of tonight’s intimate Christmas cocktail party for thirty, knew how to set a stage for elegant comfort.
Clear, hurricane candle lanterns flickered on the low tables surrounded by four long, creamy-white couches. Strings of tiny white lights twinkled in the half-dozen, full-sized fichus trees. Bold red blooms from several dozen enormous poinsettias provided holiday color. Jane blinked at the miniature Lone Star flags accenting each large planter. Obviously the hostess had a Texas connection, but geez. Why was it everywhere she looked these days she was reminded of Gabe?
In the far corner, unpacking boxes at the bar, Tony Garbino, one-third owner of Culinary Creations, and resident bartender, jerked a chin in their direction. “Good evening, ladies.”
“Hey, big brother.” Tina grinned. “This place is incredible.”
“Hey, Tony.” Jane stepped over the threshold with his sister following and skirted a couch, enjoying the smooth brushed silk against the fingertips she trailed over its back.
“We’re about ready.” Tony glanced around. “Tina, go see if Sophia needs any help in the kitchen. Jane, I could use a hand finishing up here.”
“Is Sophia still wild-eyed?” Tina asked of her sister-in-law.
He chuckled. “She’s no longer foaming at the mouth, but be careful. She’s liable to bite your head off for looking at her wrong.”
His sister grinned and headed inside.
Jane shifted two bottles of wine from the box to the rack behind the bar. “It looks like you’ve managed most of the prep on your own. Are we late?”
“No, right on time.” Tony laughed. “Nervous energy. This one’s big for us. Melanie Archer might be a cowgirl matriarch in the Lone Star state, but she’s also the queen of who’s who in Manhattan. Tonight’s event puts us on the map. Sophia’s a wreck—so am I.”
She grabbed two more bottles. “Aren’t you the one who always says the rich put on their pants one leg at a time, just like the rest of us?”
“Yeah, but in the case of this crowd, one pair of those pants would cost more than our van parked downstairs in the private garage.”
“Life is so unfair.” She bumped his shoulder. “Don’t worry. One taste of Sophia’s baked stuffed onions and Mrs. Archer and her guests will be her slaves forever.”
Tony laughed, but then narrowed his eyes. He studied her face. “You okay? You look tired.”
She was exhausted, and she blamed the planned meeting with Gabe on Sunday for much of her insomnia, but now wasn’t the time for that discussion. She’d eventually have to inform the Garbinos of her condition. After four years in their employ, the trio were more friends than bosses. She’d miss their company as much as the income, once she started to show, but a waddling prego wouldn’t be someone Creative Cuisine’s elite clientele expected to see serving up hors d’oeuvres and drinks.
She forced a smile. “It’s been a long week.”
“Don’t I know it?” He nodded, accepting the excuse. “I’ll get the rest. Why don’t you go inside and make sure Sophia and Tina haven’t come to blows.”
Three hours later, Jane slipped into the kitchen with a tray of empty plates.