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“She wants to know what to tell them.”
“Of course she does.”
Jeff snags a triangle of toast, takes a bite, puts it back on my tray. While chewing, he says, “It wouldn’t hurt to call her back.”
“And have her berate me for not being perfect?” I say. “I think I’ll pass.”
“She’s concerned about you, hon. It’s been an eventful few days. Lisa’s suicide. Being in that newspaper. Sam and I are worried about how you’re dealing with it all.”
“Does this mean the two of you actually had a conversation?”
“We did,” Jeff says.
“And it was civil?”
“Abundantly.”
“Color me surprised. What did the two of you talk about?”
Jeff reaches again for the toast but I swat his hand away. He instead kicks off his shoes and pulls his legs onto the bed. On his side now, he scoots close, his body pressing against the entire length of my own.
“You. And how it might be a good idea to have Sam stick around for a week.”
“Wow. Who are you and what have you done with the real Jefferson Richards?”
“I’m serious,” Jeff says. “I spent all day thinking about what you said last night. And you’re right. The way I got those charges against Sam dropped was wrong. She deserved a better defense. And I’m sorry.”
I hand Jeff more toast. “Apology accepted.”
“Plus,” he says between bites, “this cop-killing case is going to start taking up more of my time, and I don’t like the idea of you being home alone most of the day. Not after your picture’s been plastered all over the city.”
“So you’re suggesting that Sam becomes my babysitter?”
“Companion,” Jeff says. “And she’s actually the one who suggested it. She mentioned the two of you did some baking together yesterday. It might be nice to have some help during Baking Season. You always said you wanted an assistant.”
“Are you sure about this?” I ask. “It’s a lot for you to handle.”
Jeff tilts his head at me. “You sound likeyou’renot sure.”
“I think it’s a great idea. I just don’t want it to affect you. Or us.”
“Listen, I’m going to be honest here and admit that Sam and I will probably never be friends. But the two of you have a connection. Or you could. I know we don’t talk much about what happened to you—”
“Because there’s no need to,” I hastily add.
“I agree,” Jeff says. “You say you’ll never get past what happened, but you already have. You’re not that girl anymore. You’re Quincy Carpenter, baking goddess.”
“Whatever,” I say, although the description secretly pleases me.
“But maybe youdoneed some kind of support system to cope. Someone other than Coop. If Sam’s that person you need, I don’t want to stand in the way of it.”
I realize, not for the first time, how lucky I am to have landed someone like Jeff. I can’t help but think he’s the one big difference between Sam and me. Without him, I’d be just like her—wild and angry and lonesome. A tempest never reaching shore, forever tossing about.
“You’re awesome,” I say, pushing the tray aside to throw myself on top of him.
I kiss him. He kisses back, pulling me tighter against him.
The stress of the day suddenly melts into desire and I find myself undressing him without even thinking about it. Loosening the tie still knotted around his neck. Popping open the buttons of his Oxford shirt. Kissing the rosy nipples surrounded by a thicket of hair before moving lower and feeling his arousal.