Free Persuasion by Martina Boone Page A

going to listen to anything Ryder says.”
    “You know, I need an app on my phone to tell the Colesworths apart from everyone else. Or maybe they couldwear black hats so I’d be warned when I saw them coming. That would be helpful.”
    Eight grinned as she’d intended, but he sobered quickly. After plucking the last bite of his maple bacon cupcake from the wrapper, he popped it into his mouth as he stood up. “Watson Island is no different from anyplace else,” he said. “There’s no such thing as a pure white hat or a pure black one. Everyone comes in different shades of gray. Give it all a little time. With Cassie in jail and Wyatt dead, maybe the feud will finally die down.”
    Snatching the bag of truffles from the table, he headed toward the door. Barrie smiled at everyone, pretending not to notice the sympathetic and embarrassed glances on the faces she passed. Having lost her appetite, she tried to hand the rest of her brownie over to Eight as they exited the building, but he shook his head.
    “Don’t make me throw out chocolate,” she said. “That’s sacrilege.”
    “I’m full. And anyway, I like my desserts more layered and subtle. I think we’ve discussed this before. Someday, I’ll give you a rundown on my philosophy about cakes, women, and complexity.”
    Despite her anxiety, Barrie’s blood gave a zing of pleasure at the look in his eyes, and she wanted to hug him for it. “Apparently, you like cookies, too.”
    Eight looked both ways then crossed the street back toward Seven’s office. “Mostly I liked that Ms. Conley took the time to make them for us.”
    “So I guess you and Kate spent a lot of time waiting for your dad,” Barrie said.
    Eight’s expression darkened. “Pretty much every day after Mom died.” Instead of climbing the full length of the outside staircase that led to Seven’s office, he sat down on the fifth step up. “Dad used to promise he would drop us at home any minute, and then we’d wait, and wait, and wait. Looking back, I don’t think he wanted to go home to the memories.”
    Thinking of families, looking across at the bakery, and smelling the chocolate brought an idea bubbling to the surface of Barrie’s mind. She braced her elbows on her knees and turned her head to look at Eight.
    “Remember I told you how Mark and I used to re-create restaurant recipes?” she asked. “There was a place we went once that had a lottery where they picked random people to come when the restaurant was closed. They pushed all the tables together, and by the end of the meal, we felt like we’d been part of a family. At least, I imagine that’s what a big family feels like. It was the first time I had seen Mark hold a crowd. Sort of like Cassie. You know how she can make everyone in the room, in the building, disappear until she’s the only one you see? Like she blinds you to everyone else.”
    “Except that Mark used his superpower for good,” Eight said. “I’m assuming.”
    “Mark was good.”
    Was. The ugliest word in the English language.
    Barrie could see the night in the restaurant as clearly as if she had painted it into her memory. A violinist and a cellist playing Bach, the click of cutlery, and the low moans of foodie pleasure, and then the wrong note—the waiter dropping a plate, spilling sticky cream into Mark’s lap and shattering the dish. Into the mortified frenzy of cleanup, the chef had brought out homemade hazelnut truffles and coffee, and Mark had laughed and said, Dessert and laughter are better than glue. There’s not much broken that they can’t fix.
    “I think I know how we can have the restaurant,” she said, “without having people going where we don’t want them to go.”



CHAPTER NINE
    The pretrial intervention hearing wasn’t in a vast room full of people as Barrie had feared. No doubt as a courtesy to Seven—or more likely thanks to his ability to maneuver around what people wanted—it took place in the judge’s chambers. Apart