of my special ‘going home’ collection.”
“What else do you have in there?” he asked, craning his neck to see.
“Long dresses, pinafores—we’re very Little House on the Prairie.” She zipped up her bag before he could snoop anymore. All she really had in there were jeans and T-shirts and sweats.
She shifted the luggage from her bed onto the floor, then took its place. Joe stretched out next to her on the bed and wrapped her up in his arms.
“What time do you have to leave?” Sarah asked him.
“About an hour.”
“Nate’s picking you up at the airport?”
“If he feels like it,” Joe said of his older brother. “No guarantee. Otherwise I’ll take a cab.”
Both of them would be spending the long weekend with their families. Sarah wished she could be with Joe on Christmas, but they would have to create their own holiday later. She had plans with her parents, and Joe needed to be with his father.
“He gets pretty down around Christmas,” Joe told her, which was understandable. Sarah had noticed Joe’s own quiet mood throughout the day on the anniversary of his mother’s death. It must be hard for them all, she thought, seeing all the trappings of Christmas in the stores as early as Halloween some places, knowing it meant something completely different to them than to most people.
Sarah snuggled up closer and threaded her hand under Joe’s shirt so she could feel the warm skin of his chest.
“Good idea,” Joe said, tugging her own shirt up her torso.
“No,” Sarah said, laughing and angling away. “I have to go.”
“Come on, Red . . . ”
“Seriously,” she said, forcing herself off the bed. “I told them I’d be there this afternoon, and I still have to stop by Angie’s.”
Joe groaned. “Four days is a long time.”
“We’ll survive,” Sarah said. “Think of me in my granny panties. That ought to cool you off.”
“Not possible,” Joe said.
As Sarah bent over to tie her sneakers, she cast a sideways glance at Burke.
“I’m going to have to tell my mother about us, you know.”
Joe propped himself up on one elbow. “Why does that sound like a bad thing?”
“Because she doesn’t like you,” Sarah said. “She thinks you broke my heart. Actually, she knows you did, but she thinks it’s still broken.”
A look of—what? Concern? Guilt?—crossed Joe’s face, and Sarah realized he didn’t like her making light of what had happened.
She dove back onto the bed and pinned Joe beneath her.
“But you’d never do that again, right?” she said.
“Not in this lifetime.” He tried to flip her over, but for once Sarah had better leverage.
“And you’re very, very sorry you were such a stupid ass and ever left me, right?”
“You don’t know how sorry,” Joe said much more sincerely than her playfulness called for.
“So it’s fine,” Sarah said, giving him a deep and tempting kiss before finally releasing him and sliding back to the floor. “I’ll explain it all to my mother, and one day she might forgive you. Eventually.”
“Should I send her something for Christmas?”
“Chocolate is always nice,” Sarah said. “And a happy daughter—what mother can resist that?”
***
“What’s this?” Angie asked.
Sarah set out five tall containers on Angie’s desk.
“Crack?” Angie said, her pupils dilating. “Oh, my God, you’re the best.”
Sarah was glad she thought so, since it was all the holiday bonus she could afford.
Angie glanced at the clock. “I don’t have anyone for fifteen minutes. Mind if I heat some up?”
“Go ahead. But you know there’s always a three-bowl minimum.”
“One will have to do.”
Angie poured into a microwave dish a huge portion of the vegetable soup she’d renamed Crack Soup. Sarah couldn’t disagree with the title—the soup was positively addictive. She had perfected the recipe, figuring out how many vegetables she could throw in, in what combinations, and which spices to use. She had also gotten over thinking of parsley as just a garnish, since she added a whole head of it, chopped fine. The result was a soup so delicious it tasted almost like dessert at the same time as dinner. Both she and Angie were notorious for eating through half a pot of it before finally retiring their spoons.
“You’d better be here to give me a report,” Angie said, cutting right to the point.
“I think you deserve that,” Sarah agreed. She waited while Angie removed the soup from the microwave even before the timer buzzed. Sarah could understand that, too. She could never wait for it, either.
“So,” Angie said, “did I give you good advice or bad?”
“Good. Some people might not