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Dating was a strong word for the one date I’d gone on with MJ, but Kyle didn’t need to know that. “It’s early, but she’s…everything.” I was so awful at this.

“Is she now?” Kyle asked. Yep. She saw right through me. “I’ll see you at Sal’s.” She turned back pointedly. “Don’t bring MJ.”

I blinked at her parting words as I watched her disappear through the door to my room. No, there would certainly be no MJ in attendance. I would have to brace myself for this meeting, wondering what excuse she planned to cough up. Kyle had a way of making everything seem understandable, and I would be smart to remember that.

Tasha and Elizabeth popped in looking eager for some kind of update. “How are things?” Elizabeth asked in an overeager voice.

Tasha was carrying a pair of cellophane-encased crutches, which she promptly began to unwrap. “Dr. Remington is such a gem. We’re lucky to have her. Did you two…have a good chat?” she asked, exchanging a look with Elizabeth.

“You told her everything, didn’t you?” I asked, swiveling to Elizabeth.

“What?” She balked. “It was literally a number of hours before someone else did. You know that’s true. I merely helped it along and made sure the details were accurate.”

As true as that probably was, I planned to huff and puff about it, which was my right as today’s small-town gossip victim. “Still, Lizzie. Still.” I turned to Tasha. “Dr. Soap—ington was very helpfulregarding my foot.” The two of them nodded silently. But I wasn’t great at withholding, so quickly ended with “And we’re having dinner on Tuesday.”

“Tuesday is a great night,” Tasha said. “Not too early in the week, not too late. I have pj’s with the wordTuesdayall over ’em. It’s a good day to get a little action, if you know what I mean.” She was beaming like Christmas morning. I raised my eyebrows.

Elizabeth wasn’t fazed. “And you’ll still be rested from the weekend,” Elizabeth pointed out. “Too much fun Tuesday, I hear they call it.”

“They don’t,” I said. “And the two of you need hobbies.”

“Tiger Tuesday?” Elizabeth asked and then added a roar and paw swipe.

“No.” I shot her a stare.

“Let’s give these a try,” Tasha said, extending the crutches with a twinkle in her eyes. “Tits out Tuesday?”

“Tasha!”

“Sorry.”

Chapter Eleven

The Truth

True to my character, I arrived at Sal’s twelve and half minutes before my designated meeting time with Kyle. Necessary? No, but my fear of being late always trumped rational thought. Plus, my parents died in a car accident, so I lived my life obeying each and every speed limit. Reckless driving, even when late, would never be my thing.

“Would you like to order a drink while you wait?”

“Maybe eight,” I said, surveying their small cocktail menu. I’d been nervous about this meeting-not-a-date all day and wondered why I’d agreed. The restaurant was half full, with soft music underscoring the quiet conversation. An oak bar across the room sat apart from the kitchen, which I thought was an odd setup.

“What are you contemplating right now?”

I looked up and my bar to kitchen relationship query flew right out of my brain. Kyle wore a black sweater dress and another messy ponytail. This one was even more perfectly messy than the last. She did it to me again with the ponytail! It’s like she knew how I felt about her in them. More likely she knew how everybody felt about her in them. She was Kyle, after all, and had to know that.

“Why are you here so early? We’re not supposed to meet for five more minutes.”

“You can’t answer a question with a question,” she said, sliding into the chair across from mine. “And anyway, you’re even earlier than me.”

“Don’t point things out,” I said, doubling down on my own nonsense.

“Never again.” An amused grin graced her features. She brusheda strand of that dark hair from her eyes. “What are we drinking? Dirty martini for you and a Manhattan for me?”

Because I had decided to be perpetually grumpy in her presence, which went against every normal behavior pattern I had, I pretended to peruse the menu further. “Probably going to try something else.”

“What are we having?” our server asked, returning. I was pretty sure he was Lana and Simon’s son, Preston, who’d gone off to law school before coming home, horrified by the study load.

“Dirty martini for me,” I said, refusing to look at Kyle.