flashed
from hers to his. I had all of two seconds before he pounced. Luckily, two
seconds was just enough time for me to run from the kitchen, squealing louder
than any of my honorary nieces or nephew.
“Get back here, you
young ‘un!” Mitch roared.
“No! Never!”
I raced down the
hall and turned to swing back through their formal dining room. Mitch missed
the turn and continued on toward the kids’ bedrooms.
“Mom!” rang out
a tattletale voice. “Uncle Mitch is running in the house!”
I knew from his
growl that he’d changed directions, and looked frantically for a place to hide.
Growing up with Mitch around meant he knew just about every tickle spot on my
body. And being barefoot near a tickle monster was about as bad as wearing a necklace
made of salmon near a hungry grizzly bear. So I dove back out of the dining
room…
…and ran smack
dab into Sarah’s brick wall of a husband.
“Whoa, easy there!”
he said, catching me as I bounced off his massive chest.
“Sorry, Ron. I
was just trying to—”
“—escape from me,”
Mitch said, coming into my peripheral vision. “Thanks for the assist.”
“Nooo!” I
struggled against Ron’s iron grip, intent on escape. But instead of handing me
over, he shifted his body between Mitch and me.
“How about you
two settle this later? Like, not in my house.” The smile on his face was
congenial enough, but his tone hinted fatigue.
“Fine,” Mitch
said, eyes narrowed, and pointed from his eyes to mine. “This isn’t over, you.”
He walked back
toward the kitchen, and I collapsed into Ron. “Phew. Thanks, bud.”
“Any time.
Though, you know it’ll cost you.”
“Yeah. I already
agreed to watch the rug rats next Sat. Call it even?”
“Even.”
We exchanged a
fist bump, and I followed Ron back out into the hallway. “So, uh, Ron. Is
Sarah, you know…?”
He stopped and
turned to me with a blank look on his face. “Is she what?”
“You know .
Is she…are you two…?”
Ron’s blank
looked seemed to grow blanker. Either he had no clue that their offspring count
was about to increase, or Sarah had threatened him within an inch of his life
not to tell. Either way, I wasn’t going to get an answer out of her other half.
“Oh, never mind.
I’ll just ask her.”
He just
shrugged.
Men.
* * * *
I stood in the
kitchen with Sarah an hour later, having traded the noise of three happy kids
for the solace of the kitchen…and a small mountain of dirty dishes. So far,
we’d managed to avoid talking about work. It wouldn’t last. I could practically
hear the time bomb ticking down to detonation.
Three… two… one…
“So, you haven’t
said much about your new job all evening.”
Kaboom. I
stifled a grin.
“Not much to
tell, really,” I said, not daring to meet her eyes. She’d see through the lie
faster than I could say Torrunn MacKay. “A job’s a job.”
“Baloney.”
I shrugged, and
studied the nearly-dry saucepan in my hands. For the record? Her towels didn’t
dry worth a darn.
“Really, I told
you all the important stuff on the phone Monday night. Since then it’s been
more of the same. I still love Dawn’s massage room, my coworkers are great,
yadda yadda yadda.”
Well, most of my
coworkers were great. I felt my blood pressure spike as Bunni’s image came to
mind. Seriously, what was with that woman? I still hadn’t been able to engage
her in a normal conversation. Each time I tried, she’d cut me off and ask me to
hand her a bottle of polish or get her a towel. But I pushed her from my mind,
intent not to let the grouch ruin my evening.
“Oh! And
Xavier’s having me meet with their web designer next week. They want to take my
picture and add me to the staff list on their site. I thought that was kinda
cool.”
“Congratulations.
You’ll be famous for, like, the next six months.”
“You’re jealous,
I know.” I winked.
“Of course.” She
turned and leaned against the sink, drying her hands
Robert Jordan, Brandon Sanderson