“Of course, a busy day with us. But any . . . other reason you might be feeling a little . . . tired?” Chad asked.
Hmm, maybe mountain lion was the wrong spirit animal here. Vultures perhaps? Really sexy vultures? “Ask what you want to ask, I have no secrets,” I replied, sipping at the good hot tea.
“Word on the street is you’ve been seen coming and going from Bailey Falls Creamery, usually wearing boots belonging to a certain kids’ football coach. Care to comment?” Logan asked.
“I do like boots.” I grinned, extending my current kicks for inspection. New Manolos, slouchy suede, Alaska gray. Paired with black cashmere leggings and a fluffy pink Mohair sweater I’d found in a Chelsea vintage store—I felt extra cute today.
“Oh, she’s as bad as Roxie was when she and Leo started shtupping,” Chad said, giving me a firm look. “Okay, it’s like this. If we guess the dish, then it’s not really dish—got it?”
“I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about,” I said innocently, giving him my best Cheshire cat.
“Fair enough,” Logan said, eyes twinkling. “If you don’t take another cookie, that means you really did just borrow a pair of Oscar’s dirty work boots—boring, boring, boring. But if you do take another cookie, that means that you’ve been . . . well . . . wearing Oscar’s boots, if you know what I’m saying.”
He held out the plate of cookies, looking innocent.
I waited a few seconds, then a few more, as they watched me with bated breath. Then I finally . . . reached out for a cookie.
Which I never got, because Logan was so excited that he threw his hands over his head with a roar of victory, forgetting that he was holding the shortbread.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” I exclaimed, cookies raining down everywhere. “You guys need some new gossip around here!”
“You have no idea how long we have watched that poor boy slouch around this town, speaking only in grunts and occasional one-word answers—”
“But you don’t care, because he’s so much fun to look at,” Chad interrupted as Logan nodded vigorously.
“He is fun to look at,” I admitted. “I’m still getting the one-word answers, although he’s opening up. Some.”
“Met the ex yet?” Chad asked.
“Yes,” I said, now leaning forward in my chair. “Let’s talk about that. What’s going on there?”
Chad and Logan told me everything they could, which wasn’t much. They’d only been married a short time when they moved into town, and they divorced within a year of that. Still appeared to be on friendly terms, based on the few times they’d been seen out in public together. And because he was as untalkative as he was nonsocial, no one knew much at all about Missy, or their past, or why they’d divorced. She lived in the next town over, was very sweet and nice and kind and quiet, and that was literally all they knew.
“So you’ve seen her?” Logan asked.
“You could say that. She came over a few Sundays back when we were there on the porch, and . . . she saw some things she probably shouldn’t have.”
“Details are not only appreciated, they are coveted, revered, and possibly typed up and framed. So go slow, and make it worth it,” Chad instructed as they sat back to listen.
“Sorry.” I liked to talk a good game in the abstract, but I rarely gave up the goods on anyone I was involved with beyond a one-nighter. And even then, names were usually changed to protect the satisfied . . .
“Okay, if you’re not going to give us any tawdry tidbits about you and the dairy god, then at least tell us more about you,” Logan said, determined to glean some information.
“Me? What do you want to know?”
“Start with how you got to be so fabulous, and go from there,” Chad said.
“Honey, we don’t have nearly enough time for how I got to be so fabulous. And even then, my story isn’t really the kind you tell over tea, for God’s sake.”
A frosty bottle of vodka quickly appeared from the freezer, along with a pitcher of Bloody Mary mix and a jar of olives.
“You’re like the cocktail Boy Scouts, always prepared.” I chuckled, watching as three drinks were quickly assembled.
“And they’ll actually let us lead a troop now!” Chad quipped, then pointed at me. “Fabulous. Go.”
“I’m fabulous now, it’s true.” I paused to take a long sip of my cocktail. “But the perfectly pulled-together awesomeness that you see here today was not always the case. Not even remotely the case in junior high.”
“We were all in bad shape back then,” Chad said.
“Not true. Roxie has shown me her yearbooks, and you were ridiculously good-looking,” I corrected.
His cheeks colored slightly. “I might have made it look easy, but believe me, there was some shit going on inside.”
“It was junior high. We all had shit going on inside, and most of us were assholes sometimes.” Logan moved closer on the couch to Chad.
“I don’t know if I was an asshole, but I sure went to school with a bunch of them.”