Until There Was You

Chapter FOUR



“LIAM, YOU’RE SO wonderful to do this. Really, dear! I didn’t know what I’d do!” Stacia Osterhagen beamed at Liam, her eyes scanning him up and down like a farmer assessing a stud bull at auction. He was almost surprised she didn’t circle around him and ask him to open his mouth so she could check his teeth.

“It’s no problem, Mrs. O,” he said. “Happy to help. So, what seems to be the matter?”

“Something’s stuck in the drain,” she said. She glanced at her watch, then at the door.

“Okay, I’ll take a look.”

He’d been at the garage when Mrs. O had called about ten minutes before, and from the way she kept looking at her watch, the door and his ass, Liam suspected she was waiting for someone…someone for him. The niece or cousin or whatever. Older women had the tendency to either proposition him or offer up a younger relative. Nevertheless, she’d asked for help, and he hadn’t forgotten how good the Osterhagens had been to him back then, so here he was. Better get to it. He knelt on the floor, opened his toolbox, took out a wrench and put a dishpan under the pipe he was about to take apart.

“A prince. That’s what you are. Oh, if only we had a son who could do this. Well, Henry could, of course, but he’s a surgeon, of course, and his hands! So special, Liam! They’re insured, did you ever hear of such a thing?”

“Can’t say that I have,” he said, lying under the sink and loosening the pipe fitting. Whatever liquid was in the pipe gushed out into the pan. Liam took a flashlight and shone it into the pipe—something metal, something white, and some string. He poked it with a screwdriver, but it was stuck tight, the metal thing wedged in there real good. Jammed, really. Felt like a fork…maybe some raw potato…

A rush of cold air wrapped around his legs as the back door opened.

“I might have to leave early,” said a rather deep feminine voice. “I have a cyst. You don’t want to know where.”

“You’re right. I don’t.” That was Cordelia, if he wasn’t mistaken. The offering, perhaps. He didn’t look up.

“It’s just below my left nipple.”

Women. Was there nothing they wouldn’t talk about? Honestly, every time Emma had had friends over, talk turned to gruesome tales of childbirth or periods.

Then someone kicked him in the leg; there was a thunk, a yelp, and the next thing he knew, something with a lot of sharp angles had sprawled on top of him.

Liam pulled his head from under the sink. Cordelia was half across his lap, wincing as she touched her jaw. Her knee was about two inches from making sure Nicole would stay an only child, but no real harm done. Her sweater had ridden up a few inches, giving him a glimpse of some very white skin. Pretty. Nice to see flesh that wasn’t perpetually tanned, the way everyone’s seemed to be in Southern California.

And nice to have a woman on his lap, regardless of how she got there. The unexpected jolt took Liam by surprise.

“Baby! Are you okay? Who’s the president?” Mrs. O leaped over, the floor shuddering under her impressive weight. “Should I touch you? Is your neck broken?”

“Dang it!” Cordelia wiggled her jaw and patted her mother’s outstretched hand. “I’m fine, Mom.”

“No, you’re not! How could you be?” The floor thudded again as she bounded away, pretty fast for an older lady.

Finally, Cordelia turned and looked to see what had tripped her. Her face froze. “Oh, hi, Liam,” she muttered, jerking her sweater back down where it belonged. “What are you doing here?”

“Being trampled on by you, Cordelia,” he said.

She answered with the Slitty Eyes of Death. “Maybe you shouldn’t be flopped down on restaurant floors, ever think of that?” She hauled herself off the floor and touched her jaw again.

“Well, well, well, the return of biker boy,” her companion said. “Heard you were back in town, hottie.”

This warranted sitting up. Liam smiled. “Nice to see you again. Katie Ellington, right?”

“Kate now. And likewise,” she said.

She’d been a jock during his two years at Bellsford, he remembered that. Baseball or rugby or something. As he continued to look at her, some pink crept into her cheeks. Cute. He’d always assumed she batted for the other team, but maybe not. Liam grinned. Kate’s blush deepened. Cordelia glared.

“Here, honey. Do you know who I am?” Mrs. Osterhagen returned with an industrial-size bag of peas and pressed them against Cordelia’s face.

“Thanks, Mom,” Cordelia said.

“What month it is?”

“It’s March. Still.” Cordelia sighed and tilted her head so Mrs. O could palpate her spine, and Liam chuckled. “Ma, I’m sure I’m fine. I wouldn’t be able to stand if my neck was broken.”

“You never know,” her mother said. Then, with another significant look at Liam, she added, “Your cousin, Posey? She got in this afternoon. Very disappointed you weren’t there to welcome her home. But—” another meaningful look at Liam, complete with raised eyebrow “—she should be here any minute. Stay. You can see her. I know you’ve missed her.”

Liam picked up his wrench once more. Women would keep talking no matter if you stuffed a sock in their mouths, so if he waited for the conversation to end, he’d be here all night. Besides, Kate Ellington was clearly thinking dirty thoughts about him, because her eyes were fixed on his groin. She licked her lips. Yep. Time to go back to the clog. He half listened as he wedged the screwdriver against the clog and wiggled. Man. Getting a fork and a knife and half a potato down a drain took some serious doing. Mrs. O had worked hard tonight.

“Well, I’d love to hang out, Mom, but I didn’t realize Gretchen was coming tonight, and Kate and I have plans. Right, Kate?” she said.

“What’s that?” Kate said.

“Our thing? Tonight?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, your brother’s in the operating room, so he can’t come, either. Liam, our son is a doctor. An orthopedic surgeon, just in case you break anything, dear.” Clearly, the son’s profession could not be stated often enough.

“Good to know,” Liam said. There. A chunk of potato fell out, nearly hitting him in the eye.

“Why is he here, Mom?” Cordelia whispered, the words easy to catch.

“He’s fixing the sink,” Mrs. O replied.

“He’s a mechanic, Mom.”

“So?” Stacia hissed. “He’s here, Gretchen’s single.”

Liam sighed. There. He got the knife free, then worked out the fork. Messy job, but not as bad as a carburetor, that was for sure.

Just then the back door opened, and Liam glanced up again. Ah. The niece. What was her television show? “The Naked Fraulein” or something? Naked would be A-okay. Wow. The woman. Was built. Kim Kardashian curves, long blond hair, blue eyes, ultra-white teeth, the same kind of perfection you saw in hordes in San Diego…but nicely done, by nature, it seemed, not a plastic surgeon.

“Posey!” she cried, beaming a thousand-watter, throwing her arms around Cordelia, her cleavage practically swallowing the smaller woman.

“Gretchen!” Cordelia echoed back, her voice muffled.

“Oh, it’s so good to see you! There’s nothing like Verwandter!”

“Sorry, what does that mean?” Cordelia asked, pulling back. “No one in our family’s spoken German since World War II.”

“Oh, you! It means family. Just look at you!” She pulled a face. “Have you lost weight?”

“No, I haven’t,” Cordelia returned. “Have you gained any?”

Ah. A cat fight had to be looming. He’d put his money on Cordelia—scrappy vs. soft. Still, better to get while the getting was good. He finished tightening the washer around the pipe and stood up. The niece’s eyes slid to him…slowly. “Hello there,” she said, her voice dropping. “I’m Gretchen Heidelberg.”

“Hi. Liam Murphy.” He turned on the water and started washing his hands, counting automatically.

The woman’s too-long-to-be-real eyelashes fluttered. “Do I know you?” she asked.

“I used to work here. A long time ago.”

“We must’ve met, then,” she murmured.

“Maybe,” he said, drying his hands.

“Of course, I’m pretty familiar with this kitchen myself,” she said, giving a slight wriggle, in case he missed the mighty rack. “I filmed my audition tape here.”

Danger, my son, Liam told himself. Maneater in the vicinity. “Cool. You’re all set here, Mrs. O. Just a chunk of potato stuck in there and a few pieces of silverware.”

“I’m the Barefoot Fraulein,” the cousin went on. “Thursdays at five on the Cooking Network? Have you ever seen it?”

“Can’t say that I have,” he said, smiling to be polite. If he ignored her completely, she’d take it as a challenge, and God protect him from women who saw him as a challenge.

“Oh! Liam! You’re so clever! And so wonderful to help,” Stacia said. She glanced between Cordelia and Gretchen. “You girls should stay! You should all stay! I have some beautiful apple kuchen! Liam! Stay! Talk!”

“I’ll take a rain check on the cake, Mrs. O. My daughter’s home alone.” He turned to the cousin. “Nice meeting you. See you girls around,” he said to Cordelia and Kate, punching Kate lightly on the shoulder.

Then he got out of there, before Mrs. O tried to marry him off.





“WHO WAS THAT?” Gretchen said, actually licking her lips. Posey rolled her eyes. Gret should just smear him with sour cream and lick him off. It’d be more subtle.

“That’s Liam,” Stacia said. “He’s a widower. More than two years. I think enough time has passed, don’t you?”

“He touched me,” Kate said, her voice a little dazed.

“A widower, huh? Nice,” Gretchen said. She tilted herself back a little so that her cleavage heaved itself upward, the kind of trick Posey couldn’t have done without a couple of double-D implants and a gun to the back of her head.

“Gret, Mom, sorry we can’t stay, but Kate and I have plans,” she said. “Kate? Our plans?”

“Posey! What? We’ve hardly had time to catch up!” Gretchen fake protested.

“Well, we’re having dinner at my parents’ house on Sunday,” Posey said.

Gret pouted. “Don’t you want to hear about what the producers of Top Chef told me last week? I shouldn’t say anything, but I think they’re scoping me out as the new host of… Oops. Better not say anything till the contract’s signed.”

“I thought you were back to help Mom and Dad,” Posey said.

“Mmm-hmm. For a while, anyway.” She flashed another smile, practically blinding Posey with her glow-in-the-dark white teeth.

“Hi.” Kate stepped forward. “I’m Kate, Posey’s friend. We’ve met before, back in high school. I’m a big fan.”

Posey choked, and Kate gave her a guilty look.

“Oh, yes, of course! And thank you! You’re too nice!” Gretchen cooed.

“Kate?” Posey said. “The time?”

“Where are you two going?” Gretchen asked.

“Um…a class,” Posey said.

“A singles thing,” Kate added, and Posey closed her eyes. Her friend was pathologically honest.

“A singles thing?” Stacia asked, her mouth falling open in dismay. “Why not meet someone the old-fashioned way?”

“On a bender? Or in jail?” Posey asked, earning a glare from her mom.

“I’m just going to keep Posey company,” Kate stated. She picked up a piece of raw onion and ate it. “I’m not really looking.”

“A singles thing? What kind?” Gretchen asked. “I have to admit, I’m intrigued. I’ve never done anything like that. Then again, I meet a lot of people.” She smiled. “Well. You two have fun. Good luck meeting Mr. Right! Do they do background checks at these things? You have to wonder who signs up. Oh, my gosh, that sounded so snooty! I didn’t mean you, Posey.”

“You should come, Gret,” Posey said pointedly. “You’re not seeing anyone these days, are you?”

“As a matter of fact,” Gretchen said, smiling coyly, “I don’t want to name names, but I think we all know a certain blond Brit with a potty mouth, a chain of restaurants and a TV show…but I better not say any more, because he’s actually quite shy. And sweet! You wouldn’t believe it.”

“You’re dating Gordon Ramsay?” Kate barked.

“You didn’t hear that from me,” Gretchen said.

“Isn’t he married?” Posey asked.

“What about Emeril?” Kate said. “Do you know him? Is he short? He seems short.”

“Know him? He’s my mentor,” Gretchen said. “Not as short as you might think. He has a certain earthy charm, don’t you think?”

“Yes!” Kate exclaimed. “I do! When he says ‘Bam,’ I swear, my knees go weak.”

Posey grabbed Kate by the arm. “See you later,” she said. “Bye, Mom. Bye, Gret. Tell Gordon we said hello.” Dragging Kate behind her, she pushed open the back door. “You’re a big fan now? I thought you were my friend!”

“Well, you know how it is,” Kate stammered. “You meet a celebrity, you become an ass. I mean, I haven’t seen her since she lived with you guys in high school, you know? But I’ve watched her since that show started. I got caught up in the moment. Sue me.”

“I should beat you, that’s what I should do.”

“As if,” Kate said, slapping Posey on the back so hard she staggered. “Come on, now. On to meet your future husband. Though if you could find a way to dry-hump Liam’s leg, I’ll bet it’d be the best sex you’ve had in years.”

An hour later, Liam’s leg was looking better and better. It had looked pretty good in the restaurant, but here in the basement hallway of Christ Lutheran Church, the leg was taking on legendary appeal.

Note to self, Posey thought. Avoid singles events in church basements. The AA meeting was just about to wrap up (though the Serenity Prayer could be applied to dating: God grant me the courage to date the men who aren’t idiots, the serenity to accept the fact that many men are idiots, and the wisdom to know the difference).

Kate was busy texting her son, laughing softly. Despite their slightly odd relationship, the two were really close, and Posey couldn’t help the flash of envy she felt. Imagine, being the mother of such a good kid as James. Having him respond to your texts and acknowledge you in public. Posey was James’s godmother and so got a little trickle-down of his wonderfulness, but still. She was thirty-three years old. Her boyfriend—for lack of a better word—didn’t want to take things to the next level, and at best, their relationship was on hold. More likely, it was over.

There were numerous murmurs of denial and explanation as the singletons waited for the alcoholics to finish up. I’ve never done anything like this…?. My sister dragged me here…?. It’s not that I don’t meet people on my own, I’m actually researching a book…?. Match.com kicked me off for violating their no-stalking rule…?. That last one had come from the only cute guy here, Kevin Krepsinski, an old classmate who’d recently gotten out of jail for bank fraud. “Hey, Posey,” he said.

“Kevin. Nice to be out?”

“You bet! You still single?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

Kevin glanced at her chest, then started talking to the woman next to him, a middle-aged woman whose bosom could shelter a family of four and their Bernese mountain dog. Posey sighed. There was Emily Rudeker, who played on Stubby’s Hardware’s softball team; she nodded hello to Posey and Kate (Stubby’s was Guten Tag’s arch rival, having beaten them every game last season, thanks in large part to Posey’s complete inability to hit the ball). There was Reverend Jerry—this was his church, though, yes, he was single. He smiled broadly at Posey, and she smiled back, unsure if that was a Want to date me? smile or just How’s your soul these days?

The appeal of online dating was becoming more and more attractive by the nanosecond. At least you could do that in your PJs. At least you could screen pictures and not end up standing next to a man roughly forty years your senior who smelled like fish. The truth was, Posey had tried to register on a dating website the night Dante dumped her, but lost patience after question number eighty-two.

She didn’t feel desperate…well, a little. Her birthday was in May. She’d be thirty-four, and that was mid-thirties, which sounded much more advanced. As in, Sorry, it’s advanced. And terminal. And it was, because after mid-thirties came late thirties, then forties, then death.

“If you crack those knuckles one more time, I’m slapping you.” Kate sent her a murderous glare.

Posey put her hands in her pockets. “Sorry.”

The woman on Posey’s other side sighed loudly. “This doesn’t look too promising,” she said. “And I could be home right now, watching Valentine’s Day and fantasizing about Taylor Lautner.” She was around fifty, plump, and encased in a low-cut blouse that sealed her torso in a sausagelike casing. “I know, I know,” the woman continued, not looking at either Posey or Kate. “He’s still a child. But come on. I don’t understand that Bella, do you? I’d like to slap her.”

“Preach it, sister,” another woman agreed, nodding sagely.

“Oh, finally! It’s starting. Thank God, my bunions are killing me.” As the AA members left (a much more cheerful lot than the singletons, Posey couldn’t help noticing), the Taylor Lautner fan looked down at her cleavage, frowned, adjusted her left breast, then glanced at Posey. “Good luck.”

They trudged in. One wall showed a mural of rainbows, flowers, white lambs and the head of John the Baptist on a platter, the words Prepare Ye the Way of the Lord! in a balloon coming from his slackly opened mouth.

“Romantic,” Posey murmured, suppressing a laugh.

Small tables had been set up with cutting boards and knives and a variety of vegetables and herbs at each one. Jon clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, people! Thank you so much for coming! This is Italian Cooking for Singles, and my name is Jon. I’m so happy to see you all here!” He beamed, and Posey watched as several women and one man fell in love. “The rest of our classes will be at the Bellsford Community Center—tonight’s the only night we have to look at poor J the B here. Not appetizing, am I right?”

Jon went on to detail the class. Tonight would be basic prep, slicing and dicing, how to sweat garlic to preserve the flavor, what kinds of tomatoes to use for different purposes, why fresh herbs were the core of any great Italian dish, when to tell if pasta is ready. “I’ll tell you, gang,” he said confidentially, “overcooked pasta is a great American tragedy. Now! We’ll partner up for each stage, boy-girl, boy-girl, and rather than do the boring old questions—because we’ve all been there, done that—let’s be creative! Not ‘What do you do for a living,’ but rather, ‘Which tree are you most like?’ or ‘If you got a new puppy, what would you name it?’ Be imaginative! Have fun! You never know…tonight you might meet your future spouse!”

“I’m looking for some maples, possibly a dogwood,” Posey said.

“I heard that, Posey.” Jon grinned at her. “Guys, Posey is my sister-in-law, so everyone has to be nice to her, or I’ll poison you. Okay? Posey, let’s put you with…Wayne, is it?” He waved to the fishy older man, then dropped his voice to a whisper. “This is just to get you started. I have my eye on a cute guy for you, but I don’t want anyone to think I’m playing favorites, which I totally am.” He smiled brilliantly. “Wayne, this is Posey! You kids have fun. Okay, everyone, start slicing the garlic. I’m not a believer in crushing, I want you to peel, then slice, and I want wafer-thin, I want translucence, I want you to inhale the smell of the greatest food ever invented. Cooking is all about love, after all, and who doesn’t love garlic!”

“Is he gay?” Wayne asked.

“Yes,” Posey answered. “Hi. I’m Posey.”

“Hi,” he said. “I’d like to be honest here. I’m looking for a wife, let’s cut right to the chase, and, yes, I’d like someone younger. I’m tired of hearing about knee replacements and hot flashes. How old are you?”

“Oh. Um, I’m thirty-three,” Posey said. “But I’m not—”

“I have to say, you’re not quite as built as I like my women to be, but I could overlook that. I like long walks on the beach, sunsets and a highball or two at the end of the day. And sex, of course. The little blue pill changed my life, you know what I’m saying? My cardiologist says I should be careful, but he’s also the one who wants me on a low-salt diet. But please. Why eat if you can’t have salt? How about you? Do you like sex?”

Posey tilted her head. “I’ll get to work on the garlic, then.”

“Is that a no?”

She narrowed her eyes. “If you were a tree, what tree would you be?” she said.

“I don’t know. Kind of a dumb question, isn’t it? What do you think, want to go out sometime?” Wayne looked at her and smiled.

At the table behind her, she could hear Kate detailing her needs. “I get pretty moody around the tenth of each month. We eat dinner around five—I’m cranky when I’m hungry. Most nights, I’m in bed by nine. I don’t like shellfish. I’m not allergic, I just don’t like it.”

“Okay!” Jon’s voice rang out. “Your garlic is looking beautiful, people! Time for the gentlemen to move to the tables to their left.”

“Nice meeting you, Wayne,” Posey said.

Jon looked over at her and widened his eyes dramatically. Ah. A very handsome man was approaching her. She’d missed him in the lineup outside; in fact, quite a few new people seemed to have drifted in. She took a quick scan—nope. Liam was not among them. Not that she noticed. Or cared. Oh, bieber. Here she went again.

“Hi, I’m Gus. Please tell me you’re not on Team Jacob,” the cute guy said, grinning.

“I’m so over him,” Posey said, smiling back. “Hi, I’m Posey. If you could name a pony, what would you call it?”

“Boy or girl?

“Girl.”

“I’d call her Misty of Chincoteague.”

“A classic.” Posey smiled. “You get a point for that.” So far, so good. Jon called out instructions on how best to slice plum tomatoes, and she and Gus got to work.

“I’m not a huge fan of these singles things, but who is, right?” he said, glancing down at her. “And you’re adorable. I’ll bet you’ve never been to one of these in your life.”

Well, bless his heart! He was cute. “This is my first time,” she acknowledged.

“What do you do for work, Posey?” he asked.

“I own an architectural salvage operation.”

“Cool!” he said. “I love old things.”

The night was getting better and better. He crossed his arms. Nice arms, she noted. Nice everything, actually. A little stir of attraction tickled her stomach. She sliced her plum tomatoes obediently as Jon waxed rhapsodic about sauce. “And what do you do, Gus?”

“I’m an actor.”

“Really!”

“That’s right.” He grinned proudly.

“Full time?”

“Full time.”

“Wow.” Posey couldn’t say that she met a lot of actors…a few community theater buffs here and there, but paid actors? “So, you get enough work up here? I mean, we’re hardly New York or L.A.”

“Actually, yes.” He smiled and sliced, rather adept with a knife. “I get plenty of work. I’ve made a pretty good living at this for years now.”

Should she recognize him? Was he someone famous? “Have you been in anything I might’ve seen?” she asked.

“Maybe,” he said. “What do you like to watch?’

Now was probably not the time to mention that last night, she’d watched Phantom of the Opera for the ninth time…might make her seem a little on the fetishist side. “Um…I like just about everything.”

“Have you ever seen Heat Rising?” he asked.

She thought for a minute. “I don’t think so. What was that, an action flick?”

He winked. “It sure was.”

“Is that the one where the submarine is stolen by the pirates?”

Gus smiled. “Getting colder. It was…” He paused dramatically. “An adult entertainment film.”

Posey blinked. “Say again?”

He lowered his voice to a whisper and gave her a very adorable grin. “I’m a porn star.”

She gave a hearty laugh. “Yeah. Me, too. Posey Does Portsmouth. Have you seen it?”

He stood up straighter, and the smile left his face. “Posey, I act in adult films. That’s my job.”

Holy Elvis Presley. He was serious. “I thought… I didn’t think you were…” She glanced at Jon, but he was helping the Taylor Lautner fan, who was using her knife like a hatchet. “So. Wow. That’s…interesting.”

“It is, isn’t it? And it’s not nearly as sleazy as it sounds,” Gus went on. “I mean, do I get more than my share of tail? Sure. But I’m looking to really connect, know what I mean? Fall in love. Make love. Which is so different from acting, where some know-nothing director is telling me what to do. And it can be hard, you know? Some of the scripts we get are absolute crap. There’s no story, you know? I mean, what are these characters looking for, right? Other than a good lay?”

Posey nodded. Tried to picture bringing this guy home to her parents’ house, where pictures of Pope Benedict, son of the Fatherland, hung in three of the six rooms. He’s a porn star, Ma. A porn star. Nope. Wasn’t gonna happen.

“I should probably be honest here,” Posey said, trying to take a note from Wayne. “I…I think your job would probably rule you out in terms of dating. I’m sorry.”

“Who asked you, huh?” he snapped. “Man! You’re so prejudiced! So I screw people for a living! So do lawyers! Would you go out with a lawyer?”

“Um…probably,” Posey said.

Gus tossed down his knife and folded his arms in full sulk. Her brother-in-law gave her a questioning look, then clapped his hands once more. “Gentlemen, take a stroll to your left, won’t you?”

“Holy crap! Posey Osterhagen, right? Shit! Long time no see!”

Posey felt every muscle in her body stiffen. “Rick. Yep, it’s been a while.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Same thing you are, Rick. Why don’t we just skip each other? No need to waste time, right?”

“Smell the basil, gang,” Jon was crooning. “Isn’t that glorious? Now you know why you paid so much to take this class. This basil was flown in from Cyprus, okay? Heaven!”

“I don’t want to skip,” Rick said. “Dude, relax, okay? It’s just a cooking class.”

True enough. But by all that was holy, she didn’t want to spend a nanosecond with Rick Balin.

Rick was a native of Bellsford, too, and like Posey, he’d moved back after college. But they hadn’t spoken since high school, though of course she’d seen him here and there, at the bank or a town meeting. Rick “managed” one of his parents’ marinas, which, according to the gossip at Rosebud’s Bar and Grille, meant that he came into the office, downloaded porn (hey, maybe he’d recognize Gus), then left around three to start cocktail hour.

“So, how are you?” Risk asked. “It’s been a while, right?”

She gave a tight nod. The only saving grace was how horrible he looked, even worse up close. The years had taken a toll—the years, and several thousand bottles of beer, she guessed, based on his large belly and florid face. Even so, Rick Balin still oozed that rich-boy smugness (that, and alcohol fumes) as he lackadaisically chopped basil.

For a second, it was as if they were back in high school and Rick was leaning against her locker, blocking her from opening it. Back then, Rick Balin had lived the cliché of trust fund brat: he was beautiful, he was spoiled and he was cruel.

He’d also been her prom date.

“So, you’re still single, Posey?” Rick asked.

“Mmm-hmm,” she answered.

“Me, too. Divorced. Twice, if you can believe it.”

“Oh, I can.”

“So, maybe we can hook up sometime.”

“No, thanks.”

He shrugged and gave her a once-over. “Still scrawny,” he said. His eyes, which Posey had once thought beautiful, settled on her breasts. “Then again, anything more than a mouthful’s a waste.”

She flinched, her arm hitting his, and suddenly Rick was screaming. “What the hell! What the hell!” and blood was pooling on the cutting board, totally ruining Jon’s beautiful basil, because Rick had just sliced into the tip of his little finger.

Which, though she probably shouldn’t, Posey found deeply satisfying.

Jon leaped over with a towel, yanked Rick’s arm up.

“She cut me! She did that on purpose!”

“Oh, grow a pair, Rick,” she said. “You cut yourself. Maybe you shouldn’t drink when using sharp instruments.”

“Did you hear that? She’s so mean!” Rick said.

“It’s a just a cut,” Jon said.

“Dude! I’m gushing blood! I need an ambulance!”

Jon sighed. “Fine. Good thing you all signed that waiver, huh?”

Someone called 911, and Rick was led out of the room. As he left, he turned back to glare at her. “Whoops,” she mouthed.

Granted, it hadn’t been planned. But it was wonderful nonetheless.





“SO THAT WAS FUN,” Kate declared as they drove home. “Did you have fun? Find anyone to marry?”

“The porn star was kind of cute, but then I remembered my mother’s angina, so no.”

“You okay about seeing Rick?” Kate asked, glancing over. She reached out and patted Posey’s knee. “Awesome that you sliced off his finger.” The boo-boo had already taken on legendary proportions.

“I actually didn’t. It was the divine hand of fate, that’s all. He was half-drunk.”

“He stood you up at the prom,” Kate said.

“Yeah, I remember.”

It was true. But though Rick had indeed dumped her at the prom, it was Liam Murphy who’d done the real damage.