NOT HERE yet, is she?” Candee said when Dylan opened the door to her Monday evening.
“Not yet. You look nice.” She’d dressed for a date in a short, sexy dress and heels, with her hair up. She’d fussed for Tara, which gave him a pang.
She beamed. “When I ran into her at Wharton I looked like crap. I don’t want her to think you married some loser.”
“You’re not a loser, Candee, and you never look like crap.” Maybe when she got to know Tara, Candee would stop seeing her as this impossible ideal. Or maybe she’d sense his growing feelings for her and it would be so much worse. Dread tightened his muscles.
Duster came over to greet her and she patted him absently. “Now, what are you serving?” She looked toward the kitchen. “Wait. No food?”
“This is a meeting, not a party. There’s beer.” He intended to stay stone-cold sober to keep the conversation on track and away from awkward topics.
“That’s no way to host.” She looked him over. “Not a T-shirt. Please put on something more respectful.”
He rolled his eyes, but he went to change if it made Candee more comfortable. The doorbell rang as he was buttoning a blue oxford shirt and when he came out, Candee had let Tara in. She wore jeans and a short-sleeved yellow shirt that shimmered in the light. Silk or satin. Something that looked liquid.
Tara crouched down for Duster to put his paws on her shoulder and do the kiss trick.
“That’s cool,” Candee said, but she looked a little startled. Duster never did tricks for Candee, as much as he loved her.
“I taught him that in high school,” Tara said with a shrug, catching Candee’s tone and clearly trying to minimize the damage. “Old dog, old trick.”
“I put out snacks,” Candee said. She motioned at the cocktail table, which held the German chocolate cupcakes on a plate, the vinegar chips in a bowl. Great.
Tara gave a surprised laugh.
“It’s all he had,” Candee said, puzzled by the reaction. “To drink there’s beer...”
“No, no. The snacks are fine.” She shot a look at Dylan, who smiled sheepishly.
“What’s the joke?” Candee demanded, clearly feeling left out.
“It’s not a joke,” Tara said. “It’s—”
“Leftovers from a picnic,” he finally said, knowing their delay in explaining made it sound more significant than it should.
“A picnic. How fun,” Candee said flatly. Had Dylan and Candee ever picnicked? Not that he could recall.
“I needed a break, so we had a paintball battle. It was a thing from high school,” Tara added, trying to make it sound light, but it sounded intimate and exclusive. “Anyway, I really appreciate you talking to me about Wharton’s finances. I know it’s an imposition.”
After a pause, Candee said, “I came as a favor to Dylan.” She shot him a look, definitely pissed. “I’ll get us beers,” she said, walking away, her hips twitching angrily. Uh-oh. Bad start.
When she left the room, Tara mouthed I’m sorry at the same time he did.
Candee came back with three bottles. She held out one to him, twisted the lids on the other two and handed one to Tara.
She lifted her bottle for a toast. “To old friends,” she said, a twinkle of mischief in her eye. Hmm. He twisted the lid from his beer. Foam squirted everywhere, dousing his shirt and the floor.
Both women burst out laughing.
“Dammit, Candee.”
“Good one,” Tara said.
“Couldn’t resist. You go change. I’ll wipe up.”
He would put on a new shirt quick. Leaving them alone together was dangerous.
* * *
CANDEE WIPED UP the spill, then dropped onto the sofa and grabbed a potato chip, shooting Tara a challenging look as she ate it.
Tara sat at the other end of the couch, eating a chip, too. The stunt had been aimed at Tara, as well, she knew. They’d made Candee feel left out talking about the picnic, referencing high school, even Duster’s trick.
She decided to be direct. “I want to apologize to you for the other day. I sounded rude, I know. I was caught off guard.”
Candee shrugged, then sipped her beer, but Tara saw by the shift in her posture that Candee had needed the apology.
“Dylan talks about you a lot,” she added. “It’s obvious how much he cares about you and—”
“Don’t butter me up,” Candee said, setting down her beer with a click. “If you want him, you can have him. It’s not my concern. We’ve been divorced for years.” Her tone told a different story.
“That’s just it. I don’t want him.” Candee huffed a