Clearly, he could have asked me to be his table helper.
I would have said no. But still, it’s nice to be asked.
“I bought you a churro,” I say as his eyes widen with a touch of hope. “And then I ate it.”
“Someone’s grumpy.” Regina shoves a copy of The Made Man my way. “I bet you’re here looking for something to keep you company in bed. Happy reading, Bowie.” Her lips expand with a caustic smile. “Shep here tells me you have a cat you can snuggle with. Sounds as if weekends are pretty wild at your place.”
I growl over at her. Why do I get the feeling that vision I had about finding the two of them in a compromising position is about to come true?
“No thanks. I’ve already got a copy.” I lean in a notch as I squint over at the good author. “You should really find someone who can fact check your mobster knowledge. You never know who’s reading your books.” I cinch a smile. “I’d better get going. Rumor has it, my new friend Sophia Hathaway is out there somewhere just waiting for some company.”
Shep fiddles with the pen in his hands, his icy eyes never leaving mine.
“Bowie.” It’s all he says as the muscles in his jaw flex tight.
The woman behind me shoves her way to the front, and in a blink the table is mobbed with a pack of literature hungry ladies.
I don’t bother sticking around for the Sexy Wexy Show. Instead, I head back out into the breezy autumn night and admire the lights strung high over the festivities. The fall leaves, the bales of hay dotting the periphery, Mud and his dicey cider press in the distance, it’s all giving me a pinch of nostalgia for better falls gone by.
In truth, the origin of every bad relationship I’ve ever been in can be traced back to this pumpkin spiced season.
Some say spring is king when it comes to falling in love, but for me the flames of passion have always been stoked under the duress of a harvest moon.
There’s just something about jumping into the fall foliage, apple picking, getting lost in a pumpkin patch, going for a hayride, and making a scarecrow that screams romance.
Not that any of my exes and I ever did any of those things, but maybe if we had we would have sizzled more than we fizzled.
A redhead strides by with her chin tucked into a mustard yellow scarf and an orange pea coat wrapped tightly around her torso.
“Sophia!” I call out as I run to catch up with her.
“Chloe?” She backs up a notch as I inadvertently land us in a line for fresh dipped caramel apples.
“Bowie.” I shrug. “Fancy meeting you here. Are you here with your boyfriend? There’s nothing like a caramel apple that screams true love.”
She belts out a laugh. “No. Parker isn’t into this kind of thing.” Her expression sours. “Jackson is. But he found someone to hit the hay with, so I was about to head home.”
“Well, you might as well take an ooey gooey apple with you. We’re about five minutes from caramel dipped heaven,” I say as a couple of teenagers walk past us with everything but the kitchen sink adhered to their sticky apples.
“Fine. But I’m on the one bite diet when it comes to dessert.”
“But what a bite it will be,” I say as I inspect her a moment.
The lights up above wash her complexion white as snow and her red lipstick takes center stage. Her clothes look as if they were ripped off the runways of Milan, and there’s an overall expressive look about her. Even her warm scented perfume holds an exotic appeal that you can bet your britches cost a diamond or two.
“I get it,” I say. “The diet thing. Last year, I went on the all-beef diet. My boyfriend loved it. We had steaks for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”
True as grass-fed gospel. But it only lasted a week and a half. You can’t manage a donut shop and not eat your way through the inventory.
The donuts not only crashed my diet, but they spelled out my doom in other ways, too. It was there Johnny and I thought it best to help ourselves to the money we were helping the Morettis launder. But you know what they say, nothing goes better with a felony than carbs.
Fine. They don’t say that, but they should.
Sophia blinks my way. “Is that the moos and booze diet?” She marvels. “I was thinking of trying that next.”
“That’s the one. I inhaled the moos while my boyfriend inhaled the booze. He cheated on both the diet and me by having a few dozen women for dessert. He was pretty much a louse. I would’ve loved to have dipped his head in hot caramel and rolled it in marshmallows—or a spike strip.”
She lets a sharp laugh fly. “I know exactly what you mean.” She straightens as if catching herself. “Not with Parker, of course.”
“Of course.” Why the lie? Why not toss him under the cheating bus? And here I thought we were bonding over our skeezy exes.
She studies me a moment. “I mean, we didn’t have a conventional relationship. We were sort of feeling things out with other people.”
Now there’s something that might actually make sense.
Her eyes coast down my arm and pause at the truckload of diamonds strung together on my wrist.
“Now that’s a sparkler,” she muses with approval. “I can spot the real deal from a mile away. I used to wear one, too, until it went out of vogue. But I’m sure your darlings were mined responsibly.”
“Oh, right.” I gasp and sputter as I bring the
