Free She Hates Me Not: A Richer in Love Romance by F. E. Greene

of the warmest people Lou knew.  She was also among the most cautious.  With her chin lowered, she peered at Kip over the rims of her tie-dye reading glasses.
    While Moggie seemed completely at ease with the weekend’s weird turn of events, Beryl had been apprehensive from the moment she learned about Lydia’s one-and-done deal.  Although Beryl could find the good in everyone, she guarded Lou like a swan did its cygnets, and Kip had his work cut out for him.
    Uncertain of whether she wanted him to succeed, Lou joined them at the easels.  “Kip’s mama bought a Renoir last night.”
    “So I hear.”  Beryl scrutinized her sheep with a critical gaze.  “Does she maintain a private collection?”
    “Quite the opposite,” Kip answered.  “She buys from private collections and loans the paintings to museums and galleries, preferably those free to the public.  Charity events, like last night’s gala, delight her even more.  The theater receives financial support, and a masterpiece receives what attention it deserves.”
    Lou couldn’t imagine Lydia Richmond acting delighted about anything.  Or anyone.  Or the fact that her son had tracked down Lou yet again.  This time it couldn’t be pure chance or even a lucky guess.  Not two days in a row.
    Kip shifted toward Lou’s excuse for a painting.  “And this is…?”
    Lou stepped between him and the canvas.  “About to be thrown in the river.” 
    Easing nearer, he offered a wily grin.  “Everyone needs a hobby.”
    “But this one doesn’t need me.”  Although no part of her touched Kip, Lou felt as entangled as she’d been on Saturday night.  They were like a pair of magnets.  Or alley cats.  Or cottontail rabbits in May.  If her crusade to hate Kip Richmond was going to succeed, she would need to leave room for the Holy Ghost no matter what they were doing.
    When Beryl cleared her throat, Lou stepped aside.  Pivoting, she snatched the canvas from its easel and carried it to the willow tree.  She was done for the day even if Beryl wasn’t.  Now she just had to figure out how to get home without Kip trailing her like a hungry stray.  He’d disrupted her Sunday and invaded her day off.
    The carefree part of her rejoiced.  The rest checked the bushes for lurking photographers.  Or Lydia.  Or her bodyguard whose size rivaled a Mack truck.  He couldn’t even hide behind a tree.
    The sound of wind chimes overwhelmed the chirp of birds.  Apologizing, Beryl answered her phone.  More than once her gaze flicked toward Kip.  She murmured a few monotone yeses, then hung up.
    “Moggie’s wanting to have lunch,” Beryl shared.  “Leave the easels, duck, and we’ll collect them later.”
    “Please thank her for the dinner,” Kip said.  “It was delicious.”
    “I’ll pass that along.”  Grabbing the recyclable bag that served as her purse, Beryl gave Lou an admonishing look.  “Are we still on for tomorrow?  Do I need a Plan B?”
    “No Plan B,” Lou promised.  “It’s Plan L all the way.  You know tomorrow’s my favorite day of the week.”
    “What happens tomorrow?” Kip asked as he sat down on the quilt.
    Lou decided to be evasive.  “Details.  So how did you know?”
    “Know what?”  His expression was half innocent, half mischievous, and all adorable as he opened the basket to remove its contents.  Plastic containers of food.  Two bottles of water.  Two stemless wine glasses.  Paper plates, cloth serviettes, and actual silverware.
    “Know I’d be here today.”  She held up a bottle of Bordeaux Blanc, one she could never afford.  Either Kip was the world’s best guesser or he had a source on the inside.  “Know what kind of wine I like.  Who tipped you off?  Moggie?”
    Kip reached into the picnic basket and pulled out one of the café’s comment cards.  It was filled out in Moggie’s handwriting.  The answers did not match its questions.
     
    How did you find your meal?
    south bank of the