Spooning Leads to Forking (Hot in the Kitchen #2) - Kilby Blades Page 0,13

as well. You couldn’t use your real name to expose the seedy underbelly of the everyday commerce that ran New York.

“This is gonna hit the spot.” Shea picked up her finished hot chocolate with the handle of the ceramic mug Delilah had just slid across the counter. The drink was so good, Shea always had her first sip while she was waiting for her change. Said change went right into the tip jar. And she also made it a point to leave a ten-dollar bill every afternoon before she left. It was the only decent thing to do when you loitered in a coffee shop for that long.

“I’ll warm it up for you now and bring it to the table,” Delilah said of her bun. Shea went to get set up. Like Janice Brewster, Shea liked to sit with her back to the counter, facing Oliver Street. The slow flow of people gave her a sense of calm.

She was getting used to Sapling’s rhythms—learning who was who and what was what. Her regular circuit was the grocery store, the movie theater, Delilah’s and the post office. The Postmaster, Bev Alexander, was the only other Black woman Shea knew of in town, which may have explained why Bev always made extra time to talk. Since nobody delivered mail all the way up the mountain, Shea had to swing by periodically to check her box.

“Thanks.” Shea smiled when Delilah delivered her pastry, a dry cinnamon roll that was light on paste inside. Instead of a gooey drizzle, it was rolled in granulated sugar and glazed with something light—butter-infused royal icing, maybe. Not a honey-dip, Shea had guessed.

The brown-in-place-of-white-sugar wasn’t noticeable to the naked eye given the base color of the bun, but it was a stunning enhancement to the confection. If Shea wasn’t mistaken, there were brown butter notes to the filling and evidence of orange zest.

He’s asking to see you again.

Tasha’s text alert came in halfway through Shea’s sublime enjoyment of her pastry. Keenan insisting on seeing her before agreeing to anything divorce-related was nothing new. She was sure that plenty of abandoned spouses “just wanted to talk” before ceding control to their attorneys. The problem with Keenan was, he didn’t just want to talk.

It’s been six weeks. I think we’re getting close to the point.

“The point” Tasha referred to was part of the plan. It referred to the moment in which they’d create the illusion that Keenan was in control. This, by grudgingly offering him something better than he thought he would get. Holding steady on not talking to him was designed to wear him down until he would accept smaller victories. Plus, other negotiations would go better if Shea proved early on that she had it in her not to budge.

Not yet, Shea tapped back. They’d started out by asking for mediation—a negotiation of the terms of a no-fault, no-contest divorce. It was a big signal that Shea wouldn’t go after Keenan for all his money. If they agreed now to the phone conversation Shea had resigned herself to, it would give Keenan hope. Contact with Shea couldn’t be their first or even their second concession. Before they came to the table, he had to accept that he may never see or talk to her again.

It’s a thin line… Tasha returned. Make a man like him too angry and he might double down. People stop being themselves in a divorce.

One more week, Shea replied. You didn’t live with a master negotiator for ten years without learning a thing or two. Rule number one of negotiation was that you didn’t have to come to the table.

Just don’t let yourself get obsessed with beating him out of spite, Tasha shot back. Approaching a divorce with a fighting spirit never ends well.

Shea tried not to resent the chastisement. Tasha’s words were good advice.

And don’t forget, Tasha rejoined. He still hasn’t signed off on our proposal to halt action on the money. If he hasn’t yet, his attorney is gearing up to use it.

This was what kept Shea up at night—not often, but every once in a while, when her armor cracked and she could no longer keep worst-case scenarios at bay. Keenan’s refusal to acknowledge Shea’s purpose in taking the money meant he could still claim criminal intent.

There’s no winning this game, Shea shot back plaintively.

We will win, Tasha shot back so quickly Shea imagined she could hear Tasha’s most resolute voice. But you still need to lay low. If he presses