“There was no steak.” She dried herself off and made her way downstairs. She found him on his knees near the front door, peering under the couch.
“Fuck.” He reached for something, and seconds later pulled out a paper-wrapped bundle. One corner looked chewed on. “I guess I should be grateful that damned cat can’t fit under there.”
That must be the missing meat. “I didn’t see it.”
“I figured you didn’t leave it down there on purpose.” He smiled. He peeled the paper, sniffed, studied the contents for a moment, and then shook his head. “It might still be good, but I’m not willing to risk it in this heat and humidity. I don’t think I can make beef Stroganoff without the beef.”
Her stomach grumbled, reminding her she skipped lunch in her fit of irritation. She could offer up the cold cuts in the fridge, but what he was making sounded a lot better. “I have hamburger at home. It’s not quite the same, but the rain stopped. We could walk over there.”
“Leave the ghosts of the past behind for now?”
He’d still be there. And she only owned the property because she got it in the divorce. She was worn out from shoving memories aside. “There are still ghosts. They’re just different ones.”
“I’ll take that. Besides,dinner at Bailey’s housewas always one of my favorite parts of summer.”
Chapter Six
Jonathan was struggling. In the last day, he’d met three different versions of Bailey. The girl he hung out with in the summer—best friend, confidant, and link to sanity when his home life was falling apart—was the image he wanted to cling to and kept reinforcing it in his mind. Then there was the eighteen-year-old, who told him in no uncertain terms that she never wanted to see him again and hoped he rotted in whatever Godless hell he ended up in. He was doing the best he knew how, to keep from summoning her, and failing about half the time.
And on rare occasion, the woman Bailey was now shone through. Laughing. Witty. And God-damn fuckable.
She walked a few feet ahead, facing him, rarely looking behind her, to check her step. The warm breeze whipped her hair around her face, no matter how many times she tried to tuck the loose strands away. “The little boy thinks about Dad’s answer for a minute, then says,Dad, I think the UPS guy wants to buy mom.” As she told her joke, the corners of her mouth tugged up in a barely suppressed smile.
Even if the punchline didn’t get him, her laugh would have been infectious. “Okay, I yield.” He held up his hands in false surrender. “Auctioneers can be funny too.”
“Told you so.”
“Do you do most of your business in Miami?” he asked.
She screwed her face into a sour expression. “When I have to, but Atlanta’s my standard destination.”
That was a twelve- to thirteen-hour drive. “Are the auction houses better up there?”
“Eh... Yes. No. I guess? What about you? What’s L.A. like?”
“Back up. What’s Atlanta got over Miami?”