Page 26 of This Time Around (The Can’t Have Hearts Club #3)

Botox went for the heart-clutch again, and Allie admired the deliberateness with which she splayed her fingers over her cleavage. “It must be so hard for her without her mother,” she said, and the other two women did the sympathetic tsk again. “I can’t imagine?—”

“Actually,” Allie said, snuggling closer to Jack. “We’ve been doing a lot of counseling as a family, and the therapist says Paige is coping wonderfully.”

All three of them eyed Allie, not sure what to make of this outsider interfering with their right to comfort a grieving widower. She’d clearly screwed up their narrative.

“How about you,” Jack tried. “How are things going with all of you?”

“Just great,” Botox said. “But really, Jack—it must be so heartbreaking to lose someone that way. And so young!”

“Right,” he said, and Allie looked up to see him tug on his tie. A faint sheen of sweat dotted his forehead, and she wondered if she should just pull a fire alarm to get them out of here.

Instead, she turned back to the women. Before she could take her own stab at redirecting the conversation, Silver Sequins chimed in.

“Well,” she said, shooting a morose look at Jack. “I know it can take years to get over something like that. The love of your life, the mother of your child—that’s just not something you ever bounce back from.”

“Ever,” echoed Botox, with a pointed look at Allie.

She willed herself not to let the barb sting, and looked to Jack for a cue. He responded by planting a kiss on her forehead.

“Right,” he said. “Actually, Allie and I went to high school together. We were even engaged back when we were—what, eighteen, nineteen?”

“Nineteen,” Allie supplied, wondering if he really didn’t remember or just wanted the moral support of having someone complete his thought.

“Much too young back then,” Jack added. “But we’re older and wiser now.”

“Much wiser,” Allie agreed, wondering if she should take her hand off Jack’s ass at some point.

“I see.” Silver Sequins glanced at the other women for direction on how to proceed. “Well, then. I think I see someone else we need to greet. Ladies?”

Botox touched Jack’s arm again, lingering a little too long before glancing at Allie. “It was very nice to meet you, Hallie.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” Allie managed, thanking her parents for the gift of easy lies. Jack held her tight against him until the women strutted away in search of meatier gossip.

The second they were out of earshot, she slipped out from under Jack’s arm and looked up at him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry.” The sheepish look on his face was a surprise. “I thought having you as my human shield might eliminate that.”

Allie smiled. “I think you underestimated the female need to wrap a grieving widower in the billowy comfort of her bosom.”

He snorted. “Is that supposed to turn me on? Because it kind of does.”

She laughed, glad to hear the old Jack cracking through the surface.

This had to be hard, dealing with the sympathetic looks and whispered conversations every time he encountered someone from his past. Losing her grandmother was one thing, and Allie could relate to having lost someone close.

But a spouse—the parent of your child—she couldn’t imagine.

“You sure you’re okay?” she asked. “If you want to duck out, I wouldn’t blame you a bit. We could be sitting in a booth at Rigatelli’s splitting a pizza in fifteen minutes if you say the word.”

“Tempting,” he said. “But I made it this far. I want to stick it out.”

“Okay then. Let’s get you those damn meatballs.”

She grabbed his arm and began towing him toward the buffet table. “You know, I was kidding about the meatballs,” he said. “But they do look pretty good.”

Allie skimmed the sign, her fingers still wrapped around Jack’s arm. “They’re in a cabernet sage sauce. I’ve had these before and they’re amazing.”

“Looks delicious.”

“Try the pork dish, too.” Allie pointed at the bright silver chafing dish. “Meg Delany is famous for it.”

“Thanks for the tip.” Jack seemed to relax just a little. He picked up a plate and began loading it with meats and cheeses, a few pieces of prosciutto-wrapped melon, a slice of bruschetta, something that looked like Brie in phyllo with raspberries.

Allie grabbed a plate of her own and added a little of everything, conscious of her Spanx digging into her ribs like a hot fork. Jack reached the end of the line and nodded toward an empty bistro table. “If you want to call dibs on that, I’ll go get us some wine.”

“Perfect. I’d love Pinot Gris if they have it.”

“Coming right up.”

He slid his plate into her hand, then headed off toward the bar.

Allie walked over to the table and set the plates on it, careful not to tip Jack’s meatballs onto the pristine black tablecloth.

She picked up a baby carrot and surveyed the room, scanning for faces she recognized.

In a way, she was glad not to see anyone she knew.

It was easier this way, letting Jack’s college memories stay separate from her own.

A few feet away, a group of women all seemed to be smiling a little too broadly, laughing with a bit too much enthusiasm.

Then again, who was she to judge? She’d enlisted a fake fiancé to show Jack and his nonexistent wife just how happy and well adjusted she was over a clam dinner she really couldn’t afford.

She was hardly in a position to cast stones.

She looked back at Jack, who was making conversation with another guy in line at the bar. He laughed at something the other guy said, and she admired the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. They hadn’t done that in college, and it added a dimension to his face that hadn’t been there at eighteen.

Allie picked up a crab puff and took a small bite, careful not to dribble crumbs down the front of her dress. Nothing itched like phyllo stuck in a lace bra cup.

“Excuse me, are you Allison?”

She turned to see a slender, dark-haired woman in a black dress.

Her well-manicured nails clutched the stem of a glass of white wine, and Allie wondered if Jack had sent her over to deliver it.

She finished chewing her crab puff, embarrassed to be caught with her mouth full.

She nodded in response, wishing she had something to wash down the flaky pastry.

“I’m Allie,” she said, swallowing the last of the crab puff. “Sorry about that. Are you one of Jack’s classmates?”

The woman gave a primal snarl Allie mistook for laughter. That was probably why she didn’t jump back fast enough.

“You bitch!” the woman growled, lunging at her. Allie moved back, but she wasn’t quick enough. Not to avoid the fierce slap, or the icy splash of white wine hitting her square in the face.