apron. “You remember Paul.”
Kimber slanted Ferney an exasperated look then turned to Paul, who’d been her sister’s boyfriend for the past three years before he recently proposed. “Kimber York, how do you do?”
“Paul Langham.” He jutted out his hand, and she shook it. “Good to meet you. Ferney’s mentioned you once or twice.”
“I can only imagine what she said.” She peered into the pot. “What’re you burning?”
Paul’s lips twisted into a pout. “It’s supposed to smell like this.”
“Never mind Paul and his ways.” Ferney slid into the breakfast nook’s booth with her own glass of wine and scooted over, patting the seat beside her. “Come here and let’s have a little chat.”
“Oh boy.” Kimber sat with a groan. “I knew something was up. You’re never this nice to me when I come home.”
“What are you talking about?” Ferney’s voice rose, indignant. “I’m always freaking nice to you.”
“All right, fine.” Kimber laced her fingers atop the table with a stifled sigh. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
“I just want to make sure you’ve got everything ready for the move.” Ferney covered Kimber’s hands with her own and stared at her, her gray eyes brimming with distress.
“I think so. But I’m moving, like, eight blocks away, so if I forget something, I’ll just pop over.” Kimber turned her attention to her orange striped cat, the eight-month-old Pepperoni, who trotted into the room and flopped onto his back. She bent toward him, rubbing his stomach. “Hello, little man.”
“Which reminds me, don’t forget to take that mangy thing.” Ferney gestured toward Pepperoni.
“He isn’t mangy. He’s clean.”
“He’s a menace. He’s constantly in my ear, meowing and playing and carrying on.”
“That’s what kittens do.”
“Whatevs. I’ll be glad to be rid of him. And now that he’s gone, you can finally concentrate on going back to school, getting your business degree, and opening your own bar like you’ve wanted,” Ferney said. “I hope you’re still planning on calling it Ferney’s.”
“Totally,” Kimber said, deadpan. “You know what a brilliant idea I think that is.” She slanted her sister a look. “While we’re on the subject of the future, you
“Of course.” Ferney made a face. “I’m offended you’d even question me. The one you should doubt is useless Dane. Is
“You’re a real Nancy Drew.” Kimber took a gulp of wine, trying to calm the nerves that had suddenly frazzled at the reminder of her boyfriend’s undependability.
Ferney slapped her palm on the tabletop. “I think tomorrow should be the final test. If he doesn’t show up to help you lug your shit into the place you should’ve been sharing, he’s history. If he shows up, great. Then I’ll think of more tests he’s likely to fail.”
Paul rested his hands on Ferney’s shoulders and gave them a squeeze. “What your sister’s trying to say is that she’ll miss you.”
“No, what I’m trying to say is I hate Dane. He’s twenty-four and he acts like he’s still in college. He doesn’t know what to do with a real woman.” Ferney’s head lolled forward and she gave a groan, the veil of her straight- ironed white-blonde hair hiding her face. “Keep rubbing. I think your thumb’s on a knot.”
Kimber’s cell phone sounded in her purse, and she swilled the last of the merlot and hurried to her room, her heart turning over at the sight of Dane’s name on the display screen. She both craved and dreaded his calls; they usually went exceptionally well or exceptionally bad, with no in-between option. Most often they were both.
She flipped on the light, illuminating nearly empty room with stacks of filled cardboard boxes, and answered the phone. “Hello?”
“Hey, bables.” His voice, as always, sounded vaguely amused and slightly stoned. “What’re you up to?”
“I just got home from work.” She sat on the edge of her mattress resting on the hardwood floor; pieces of the bed’s headboard and frame leaned against one of the bare walls in the corner. “What about you?”
“Just hanging out, wondering when I’ll get to see you again.” She pictured his wiry form sprawled across a couch, clad in the classic Dane uniform-khaki shorts and a Grateful Dead tee over a long-sleeved shirt-and his long, wavy brown hair tied back.
She pulled her knees to her chin. “Why not tonight?”
“I wish I could. But Sam’s car is blocking mine in and she’s not home to move it.”
“Oh.” Pain and anger constricted her heart, and she fought against the wave of uncontrollable jealousy threatening to run rampant. How was it that rotten twists of fate always managed to keep Dane and her from seeing each other or even getting along? There was always some barricade to overcome, and most of the time Kimber didn’t know if they actually overcame the obstacles or just ignored them.
“You could come over here, if you want.” He gave a heavy sigh. “I understand if you’d be uncomfortable doing that though.”
Uncomfortable was not the word to describe how agonizing she imagined visiting his new place would be, all the while knowing it wasn’t supposed to be like this. “I shouldn’t,” she said finally. “I still have a lot of packing to do.”
“Ah. All right.” She heard him light a cigarette and take a drag. “So what time am I helping you move tomorrow?”
“How about nine?” She willed back the tears she knew loomed in the very near future. “Ferney wants to cook us all what she’s calling a power breakfast beforehand, so bring some antacids.”
Dane laughed. “I’ll be there.” His voice dropped. “Love you, bables.”
“You too.” She hung up, trying not to feel disappointed in the evening and wishing there was something Dane could say to fix everything. In spite of herself, she thought of Ferney’s move-in test and wondered if it wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
Chapter Two
Jay wandered through apartment 18, nodding as he surveyed the stacks of boxes that created a cardboard fortress along the blank walls. “Look at all this space you have.”
Kimber smiled. “That’s because there’s no furniture in here.”
“And how long is your minimalist phase going to last?”
“Hopefully not long. I talked to my mom last night, and she said since she and my dad are still in Florida visiting my grandparents, she’s going to mail me a check to buy some stuff.” She sighed, her smile vanishing. “I’m sort of glad they’re not here to help me move. The whole sight is too depressing to witness.”
“Hey, this place isn’t so bad. This little guy likes it.” Jay bent down and scooped up Pepperoni, who’d been crouched low, flattening himself between a canopy of box flaps. “Right, Puddypaws?”
Pepperoni dangled limp from Jay’s hands, looking so miserable Kimber had to laugh. “Leave the cat alone. And stop calling him Puddypaws or he’ll never learn his name.”
“You’re the one who keeps calling him the cat.” Jay let Pepperoni drop to the carpet on all fours, and the feline scampered into the kitchen with a meow that sounded more like a chirp.
“I can’t help it. He hasn’t grown into his identity yet.”
“What kind of identity does one named Pepperoni have? A delicious one?”
“Which reminds me-I have no food. The only things in the fridge are a six-pack of PBR, a box of microwavable sandwiches, and some of those popsicles with the syrup that always make me cough.” Kimber sank into a cross- legged position on the freshly shampooed carpet with another sigh. “And don’t even get me started on how and when I’m ever going to fill all those cupboards.”
“You need to quit with the woebegone bit and buck up. This set-up is sweet, definitely better than my place.” Jay poked her in the stomach with the tip of his sneaker, knocking her off balance. “Unlike me, you have guaranteed parking and don’t have to fight the neighbors for the driveway. And the area looks safe, so I bet you don’t run the
