“Maybe we’ll have a few minutes of peace,” Blake said, turning his attention to his dinner—and his dinner partner. “So, what’s the verdict?” he asked as Devon dipped a piece of salmon in dill sauce and tasted it.
“Delicious.” Devon didn’t have to fake her enthusiasm. “You might just win this contest.”
“You’d never allow that.”
“You’re right. Which means I’ll have to come up with an amazing recipe to trump yours.”
“I’ll give you a week. Not a day more. And this time, I’ll bring dessert. We’ll have it first again.”
“Same kind I brought?”
“Similar. Only this time hotter, so we have to savor it slowly.”
A tiny shiver went through Devon. “Savor it, maybe,” she murmured. “But hotter? I don’t think it gets much hotter than it just did.”
“We’ll find out, won’t we? Next Friday. Your place.”
“Next Friday.” Devon repeated his words, the provocative aura of the past hour eclipsed by a harsh dose of reality. “I’m not sure I’ll have the place to myself yet.”
The silence that ensued was a vivid reminder of the events defining the past week—events that had brought them together.
“Is your family staying until your mother’s home?” Blake inquired carefully.
“I think so, yes.” Devon took a bite of salad. If Blake was going to start pumping her for information, she’d better jump the gun first. “Not just my brother and sister,” she added, forcing herself to address the issues she’d come here to address. “But also my mother’s dog. You met Scamp.”
“Uh-huh.” Blake nodded. “At your house and at doggie day care.”
“That’s right. So it’s SRO at my place right now. Fortunately, Scamp and Terror get along well. The only place they have territorial battles is in the car.” Devon paused to chew and swallow a forkful of green beans. “Speaking of the car, we never finished our earlier conversation. Are you going to drive your truck down to Manhattan or take my advice and buy an SUV?”
“Probably the SUV.”
?
??Good. Because Chomper’s going to grow fast. And a Jag’s no place for an eighty-pound dog.”
“I agree.” Blake popped a piece of fish into his mouth.
“I looked for your Jag in the clinic’s parking lot a couple of times this week,” Devon continued, her tone conversational. “I was hoping to catch you so I could say hi. I didn’t spot the Jag anywhere.”
“Didn’t you?”
“No. Did you and Chomper cut class?”
“We were there.”
“Really? Jag and all?”
Blake put down his fork and eyed her with an amused expression. “Nice poker face. Not bad delivery. But overkill. Let me help you. You’re trying to get me to mention the Mercedes. Okay, I’ll bite. I drove the Benz up to White Plains. Chomper prefers the roomy interior. Does that answer your question?”
Devon tried to hide her surprise. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do. You want to know if I’m hiding info on the make and model of my company car. I’m not. Anything else you’re unclear on? If so, go for it.”
She took the bait. “Okay, fine. Let’s bypass the automotive argument. Let’s switch to a subject we’ve both stayed far away from. Philip Rhodes. I heard about his death. I’m sorry.”
“Me, too. Philip was a good man.”
“From what I hear, so was your uncle.”