Page 41 of Close Match

We’re a mess of laughter and tears when the door to my penthouse opens and Simon calls out, “Do you know what a pain in the ass it is to walk through Fifth Avenue traffic holding three milkshakes as well as a sack of burgers?”

Bristol, never one to put up with any crap, yells back, “Then you shouldn’t have got yourself one!”

There’s silence from the other room. Simon has no comeback for that. He should have known better than to open his mouth against his smart-ass pregnant wife.

I hold out my fist for Bristol to bump it. She does, before asking, “How many days are you staying?”

“I agreed to three, but I have the option to fly back early since I’m chartering a jet,” I explain.

She nods. “Then I’d leave about half of what you intend to pack home. Knowing you, you’re likely to find a store you love and buy it out.”

Thoughtfully, I look at the outfits I’d planned on bringing. “Makes sense.” I begin to put hangers back into my massive walk-in closet. “But I’m taking all the shoes.”

“Of course. You don’t want to be walking around in new shoes and get a blister,” she calls out, voice horrified.

When I step back into my bedroom, the tension is gone from her face. “I’m just worried about you, Linnie. It’s wonderful you found your father, but I still feel like we know next to nothing about him. Maybe it’s the baby hormones, but I’m just concerned. You’re you. That makes you a target.”

Sitting down next to her, I lean my dark head next to her blonde one. “I know. This weekend I will find out more to help ease your mind.”

And my own. As much as I hate to admit it to Bristol, I relish the days off where I don’t have to act. Right now, when I spend time with my father, I’m not getting that break to be me, Linnie Brogan. I’m playing a role, so I hope I don’t trip up and tell him who I really am.

* * *

Old Town Alexandriais quite possibly one of the loveliest places I’ve ever been to. With its cobblestone streets and historic waterfront, it’s almost mind-boggling to think this little gem is only ten miles from the insanity of the nation’s capital. I mean, there’s even an adorable red trolley car that zips up and down King Street.

Bristol was spot-on when she told me to leave half of my clothes at home. What we failed to take into account was I’d find a multitude of stores I’d buy out—much to Ev’s amusement—and I’d have to buy luggage to get all of my finds home with me. “Obviously, the communications business pays well,” he says when I come strolling out of Sara Campbell’s boutique with a garment bag over my shoulder.

Blushing, I try to stammer out a reply, but all Ev does is lift the bag from me and say, “How about a bite to eat? You shop like Char does.”

“How’s that?” I ask, truly curious.

“Like all the stores are going to go out of business,” he says dryly.

I laugh, heartily.

We end up at Sonoma Cellar, a wine and tasting bistro. I order sparkling water, and Ev orders an iced tea. We decide to split the West Coast Cheese Plate to start. I begin fiddling with my utensils before I blurt out, “You don’t drink either?”

Ev levels a solemn look on me. “No, I take some medication that alcohol interferes with, Linnie. I haven’t had a drink in several years.”

My filter must have been left in New York because my inner thoughts just come flying out. “I saw you and Char and it makes complete sense. You two are like two halves of a whole.” His face softens. “But trying to picture you with Mom is an impossibility to me.”

There’s a long pause between us. Suddenly, Ev begins to make a choking sound. “Ev?” Shit, did I just kill my biological father? “Damn, do you have any allergies? Do I need to call for help?” I’m practically hysterical.

His choking erupts into a deep laugh that has him waving his hand in front of his face. “So, you thought your mother and I must have been drunk to have conceived you? That we were so different?”

“The thought did cross my mind,” I admit. “Unfortunately, with Mom, it wouldn’t have been all that far-fetched back then.” That sobers him up as nothing else would.

“What do you mean?” I don’t respond right away as the waitress arrives with our cheese board. My eyes widen at the size of it.

“Um, Ev? Do our rooms have refrigerators?”

Picking up a slice of toasted bread, he slathers a creamy brie on it. “Dive in. And tell me what you meant about your mother.”

Telling myself I’ll run an extra few miles on the treadmill tomorrow to make up for this, I do.

By the end of it, Ev’s face is pale. To say he’s shaken when he realizes the woman he thought was a flamboyant bohemian was quite simply a very functioning alcoholic is an understatement.

He’s rocked to his core to realize that for years a fond memory has been nothing more than an image, an act.