Drive Me Wild - Melanie Harlow Page 0,43

Handme wanted to know.

“Is it a wedding reception?” joked McIntyre.

“No. We’ll talk about it later,” I told them, eyeing the tray again. I wasn’t even sure what a scone was. “So what’s in these things anyway?”

“They’re blueberry-lemon-thyme,” Blair said. “I call it a BLT.” She grinned triumphantly. “Try one. I made plenty.”

“I can’t. My hands are filthy.”

“Here.” She picked one up and held it to my lips. I took a bite, conscious of the way everyone in the room was watching us.

But as I tasted her creation, I had to admit I understood why widowed old Charlie Frankel might be back every morning. “Wow. It is good. I thought it would be sweet like a donut.”

She shook her head and smiled proudly. “My favorite things are both sweet and savory. I love the way the thyme and lemon balance the sugar and fruit. Here, have another bite.” She held the scone to my mouth again, and I bit into it once more. As the sugary glaze dissolved on my tongue, I wondered if that’s what she would taste like. Why hadn’t I tasted her last night? I made a mental note to rectify that as soon as possible.

“Want the rest of this?” Blair held up the scone. “I’ll wrap it up for you. You can finish it later.”

“Sure.” I watched her carefully wrap it in a white napkin, a stack of which sat next to the tray. “Can you set it aside for me? I’ll finish it when I break for lunch.”

She nodded. “Speaking of lunch, just let me know when you’re ready. I can run down to the deli again.”

Dodson headed for the door. “Guess I better get home for lunch too. Edna gets cranky if I’m more than five minutes late.” He turned back. “But I’m going to tell her to come in and try one of those things. Her car needs an oil change anyway. Think you can fit her in this afternoon?”

“Sure,” I said. “But have her come before four o’clock.”

“Will do.”

Once he was gone, I turned to Blair. “Nice work.”

She blushed. “Thanks. It’s a start, anyway.”

I moved toward the door and pulled it open. “Come on, you guys. Back to work.”

“Don’t I get to try one of those things?” McIntyre whined.

“Later,” I said. “We’ve got things to do, and we’re knocking off early tonight for the game.”

But Blair quickly wrapped one up for McIntyre anyway and handed it to him with a finger over her lips. He took it and ducked into the bay, flashing me a triumphant expression.

I was following right behind him when I heard my mother’s voice.

“Hello, darlings!” she called as she came hobbling through the open door behind a walker, as if she hadn’t been getting around just fine on her own yesterday. “My lands, something smells delightful!”

I turned around and sighed. “What are you doing here, Mom?”

“I came to see what all the fuss was about! It’s all over town that Blair is the new Betty.”

I shook my head. “Jesus Christ.”

My sister strolled in, sipping a cold coffee drink through a straw. “Hey, big brother. How’s married life?”

“Will you stop with that?”

“No. I like the way it bugs you.”

“What’d I ever do to you?” I asked her.

“Ha! You want the list I started at age seven, beginning with ripping the heads off all my Barbies and burying them around the yard?”

“The other day you said I was the best big brother ever.”

She shrugged. “I needed something from you. That’s how it works.”

I looked at my mother. “This is why I’m not having kids.”

Then I ushered the guys back into the garage, letting the door slam shut behind me.

Ten

Blair

I couldn’t help laughing. “Did he really do that?” I asked Cheyenne. “Bury your Barbie heads in the backyard?”

She nodded. “That and a hundred other mean things. He was the worst. We fought constantly.”

“Don’t listen to them, Blair,” said Darlene, lowering herself into a chair. “Having children is a wonderful, beautiful thing.”

I smiled at her. “I’d like them someday.”

“Really?” Darlene gave her daughter a look. “Did you hear that Cheyenne? Blair wants children.”

Cheyenne rolled her eyes. “I’ve told you a million times, Mom. It’s not that I don’t want kids. I do, I just don’t think there’s a deadline. I have plenty of time to find the right person to have them with.”

Darlene glanced at the ceiling. “You hear that, Hank? She thinks she has plenty of time.” Then she pointed a finger at us. “I’m telling you girls, the biological clock is