A sharp, rhythmic tapping on the apartment door drew his attention. She saw his eyes widen before he ran to the door.
“Special delivery for Miss Summer Warren.”
She stood on her tiptoes to see around Arnie’s large body and found nothing but flowers. More pink and white flowers. Crying was a real possibility. She’d received a couple of nice arrangements after Ari was born, but this was over the top.
A stylishly dressed woman resembling Meryl Streep caught between her Julia Child and Miranda Priestly roles marched in with a hotel lobby-sized floral arrangement.
With her sudden appearance, the vibe in the room changed. Unsure what to make of Arnie’s flabbergasted expression, Summer stayed quiet and watched, hoping for clues.
“I see Ned beat me to the punch.” The woman chortled in a husky voice and gave the other flower arrangement a pointed look. Pushing them aside, she plopped her floral contribution onto the island counter and turned to subject Summer to an audacious inspection.
“And I take it, this is the famous Summer?”
Famous? Hardly. She made a face and returned the woman’s ocular once-over. “I’m sorry, but who are you?”
Arnie reacted like a starting gun went off in his face. He jumped between them and mumbled so adorably she bit her lip to keep from smiling. His nervousness made her day.
“Umm,” he stammered, “uh, Summer? This is Dottie?”
Was he asking a question or making a statement?
Wait. She blinked a couple of times. Did he say Dottie? She gasped as the situation before her came into focus.
“Dorothea Anders, Miss Warren. Call sign, Dottie Quick,” she drawled with quite the smirk on her perfectly made-up face. “It’s the pleasure of a lifetime to meet you, and I must say you are nothing like I expected.”
Summer grinned. “And you, Dottie, are everything I envisioned. He talks about you a lot.”
Dottie’s hand shot out, and she walloped Arnie in the chest. “Seriously? You’re so conversationally challenged you have to talk about me?”
His expression was priceless. She and Dottie looked at each other and smirked with amusement at his expense. They shared a laugh, and when she offered a handshake, Arnie’s surrogate mom pulled her into a fierce hug.
“Yes, yes.” Dottie chuckled. “You’re going to do nicely. Now where’s the Wanamaker heiress? Bring me the baby!” She smacked her hands once and rubbed them together. “Have no fear, Summer. I’m a card-carrying granny with two grandbabies back in New York.”
“I’m afraid she’s napping at the moment, but please come in. There’s an embarrassing selection of bakery goods on the table and a push-button box of coffee. Ned and Stan are somewhere.”
Whipping a large, luscious-looking Michael Kors handbag out of thin air, Dottie dropped it on an island stool and pulled out an iPad.
“I’m always prepared for anything,” the older woman quipped. She waved off, going to find Ned and Stan. “Those two don’t need my help getting into trouble, and with the baby napping, we have the perfect opportunity to do some business.”
“Business?” Arnie muttered. “What’s going on?”
She ignored him. Or she gave the impression he was invisible. Take your pick—either one was funny as hell.
Marching into the living room, Dottie headed for the table strewn with boxes, nosed through everything, and settled for a chocolate bear claw. She took a seat, then a bite, and wiped her fingers before holding the iPad like a stenographer’s notebook.
“Let’s get started, shall we?”
Summer balked and looked at Arnie. He shrugged. It didn’t help to know he had no idea what the heck was going on either.
When Dottie kicked a chair with her foot, they each flinched with surprise.
“Have a seat.”
Feeling like she’d been summoned to the principal’s office, Summer slowly sank onto the chair, pressed her knees together, and held onto the seat.
“From the standpoint of right now and your daily requirements, what equipment do you need?”
“Equipment?” She looked up at Arnie. He was right by her side but didn’t seem to know what Dottie meant, either.
“For the baby. I presume a crib and a changing table, yes?”
She nodded jerkily. “Uh-huh.”
“What about this?” Dottie asked, pointing at Ari’s swing seat. “And the playpen.”
“Uh, well, yes. I mean, she uses all this stuff. Every day.”
“Dorothea,” Arnie grated impatiently. “What’s this all about?”
She sighed heavily and pursed her lips. Tapping on the electronic tablet, she placed it on the table for them to see.
At the same time, Ned and Stan came through the backyard door, in the middle of an animated conversation. They were ranking the NHL teams according to concession stand