“What?” she mumbled, mouth full.
“Um, well,” Kincaid said, giving her a pointed look. “How about starting with… Is Finn in jail? Do we need to rustle up bail money? Why did he attack someone in the first place? Pick anywhere to start, sugar, but start talking.”
Liv swallowed her bite and sighed. “Sorry. No, he’s not in jail. No bail money needed because the guy dropped the charges. And what happened is that the desk guy is an asshole who was snapping pictures of us to give to his journalist girlfriend.”
Rebecca set her fork down with a clink, her cheeks flushing the color of her red hair. “Are you kidding me?”
“Disgusting,” Taryn said with a grimace. “Some people have no home training.”
But Rebecca wasn’t done. She looked ready to take her own swing at the guy or drag his ass into court. “If he gives anyone those pictures, we can file a complaint. The hotel assured us privacy, and he’s an employee.”
“I don’t think it will come to that.” Liv grabbed the coffee carafe and poured herself a cup. “I threatened the guy, deleted the photos, and laid on a guilt trip that only a sociopath could ignore. By the time I left, he was stumbling over his tongue to apologize.”
Kincaid nodded her approval, her lips pursed. “Good for you. And good for Finn for punching that little twerp. What in God’s name is wrong with people? I’d say kids these days, but then I’d feel old and I am not.”
Taryn frowned. “So Finn’s okay? Why didn’t he come to breakfast?”
“He’s okay. He dropped me off at the hotel.” He’d waited for her to get inside her car before he’d taken off—like he wasn’t sure she’d be safe without an escort. But living among criminals for two years would probably make anyone a little paranoid. “He’s had a rough morning and had some things to take care of, so he’s heading out to Wilder to the lake house he’s renting.”
“Oh.” Rebecca didn’t bother to hide her disappointment. “That’s too bad.”
“Yeah.” Liv shifted on the booth seat, desperate for the other women to stop grilling her. She didn’t want to blurt out, Holy shit, I just agreed to stay with my high school ex-boyfriend for a few weekends to make sure he doesn’t lose it again. Someone slap me with a pancake and knock some sense into me. “So blog research? I didn’t know you blogged.”
Kincaid shrugged like it was nothing worthy of discussion—which was weird because with Kincaid, almost everything was worth discussion.
Taryn swiped at her mouth with a napkin, losing all her coral-colored lipstick, and gave Liv a conspiratorial look. “Kincaid blogs about the best local eats in the Hill Country and then re-creates the dishes for the home cook. This will be her next post.”
“That’s cool,” Liv said. “I do a lot of web-design work for bloggers.”
“It is cool, but she’s secretive about it. I found the website by accident,” Taryn said.
“Yes.” Rebecca dropped another pat of butter on her pancakes. “And we can all hate her because she eats her way through Texas and can probably still fit into that dance team outfit from high school.”
“Oh, I so cannot.” Kincaid said, wrinkling her nose. “I’ve tried.”
Liv almost spilled the cream she was pouring into her coffee. “Wait. You tried to wear the blue glitter leotard?”
“I cannot be blamed,” Kincaid said, raising a finger. “There was spiked eggnog and a dare involved at an after-hours Christmas party. What was I supposed to do?”
“Um, say no?” Rebecca suggested.
Kincaid gave her a look like she’d spoken a foreign language. “You don’t say no to a dare, especially when it was issued by some know-it-all coworker who thought he’d make me look ditzy. I promise, I came out on the better end of the deal. I made him agree that if I tried it on, he had to as well.” A wicked grin emerged. “Leotards aren’t meant to wrangle all that boy busin
ess, so things…escaped. The rest of the guys called him Glitter Balls for about a year afterward.”
Liv laughed. “Nice. Remind me to never play Truth or Dare with you.”
Kincaid did a mock half-bow. “Wise decision.”
Liv didn’t doubt it. Kincaid had developed a reputation in high school as a firecracker—pretty to look at but someone who could burn you if you got on her bad side. One of the football players had dated her, gotten caught cheating, and ended up with his brand-new convertible filled with Kibbles and Bits and Dawg written on the window in greasepaint.
Liv had secretly wished to be Kincaid’s BFF that day. A woman who could pull off a master prank on a master prick scored an A for Awesome in Liv’s book. But she and Kincaid had only been friendly, not close. Plus, Kincaid had intimidated the hell out of her. Still did sometimes.
“So is the blog like a job? I thought you were doing real estate,” Liv asked.
Kincaid waved a piece of bacon like it was a pointing stick. “Nah, it’s just a thing to do in between the day job. Food blogs are crazy competitive. You have to be able to cook, have a unique angle, be a writer and a world-class photographer. Promote your pants off. Preferably have a hot husband and cute kids to smile in pictures around the table so you look super wholesome. I can’t take a good picture to save my life. I’d have to hire the cute husband and kids. And wholesome is a ship I never wanted to sail on. So I just dabble.”
“We can’t get you the husband or make you Betty Crocker, but maybe Liv can give you a few tips on the photography if you want to do more than dabble,” Taryn suggested between bites.