it when she has time," he said.
Millie leaned toward him and patted his arm. "You still clean up real nice, though."
He did his best to look gratified by the compliment.
"Will you be in town long?" Aggie asked.
"Not sure." Jeb wondered again why they were so eager for him to leave. "But the hockey tickets were a nice surprise. Thank you."
Caroline placed a silver strainer over his cup to catch stray tea leaves as she poured him some fragrant, steaming Earl Gray. "It was our pleasure, Jeb."
Was it? If they wanted him out of town, why give him tickets for a game more than three weeks away? If not for those tickets, he might think they were trying to get rid of him so they could fix Laney up with some man they knew. Because certainly the Graces realized, even if Laney didn't, that most men wouldn't appreciate their love interest's having another man for a best friend.
Millie slipped a transparent slice of lemon into his cup. "You should come by the house and meet our new cat."
Jeb just looked at her. His memories of the Graces' old cat were still uncomfortably vivid. How many times had he climbed the oak tree in the Graces' front yard to rescue stupid Frankie, who always repaid him with a vicious scratching?
As far as Jeb had ever been able to tell, the Graces had made it their mission in life to keep him humble. They twisted him like a pretzel, but for Laney's sake he pretended to be about ninety percent less annoyed with them than he actually was at any given moment. He had even forgiven them—well, almost—for tricking him into wearing that pink rabbit suit.
"Too bad you weren't here in August," Aggie said. "We could have used you at the county fair."
The Graces were always up to their dimpled elbows in charitable fundraisers, and until he'd moved to L.A., Jeb had been their favorite sucker whenever they 'd needed a booth manned. Seeing her great-aunts happy always put a warm glow in Laney's blue eyes, so Jeb had allowed the triplets to inconvenience and humiliate him on a fairly regular basis.
"What did you sell?" he asked, showing polite interest and wishing Laney could witness this proof that he wasn't entirely lacking in social skills.
"Hotdish-on-a-stick," Millie said.
Jeb was as familiar as any other Minnesotan with hotdish, which was essentially any casserole involving meat or poultry paired with noodles or potatoes in a binding sauce, typically canned cream of mushroom soup. But—
"Hotdish-on-a-stick?"
"You slide meatballs and Tater Tots onto wood skewers," Aggie explained. "Then you batter and deep-fry them and serve them with a cup of mushroom gravy for dipping."
"They look like lumpy corndogs," Millie added. "Laney says they're revolting, but they made us some good money for the church ladies' aid society."
"We'd have done even better with Jeb in the booth," Aggie opined. "Women love buying things from dark, dangerous-looking young men."
"Yeah, that's for sure." Millie nodded eagerly. "Put a gold hoop in Jeb's ear and dress him in one of those billowy white shirts and he'd make as good a pirate as Errol Flynn in Captain Blood ." She looked at Caroline. "Remember that for next time."
There wasn't going to be a next time, Jeb promised himself as he drank some tea. Not even if Laney said pretty please and baked him an enormous batch of seven-layer bars without nuts. A man had his limits, after all. A man—
Oh, who was he kidding? He might wander off for a while, but all Laney had to do was tug on that invisible string she'd tied around his heart and he'd come spinning back to her like a human yo-yo, ready to do the Graces' bidding or anything else that would make her happy.
"Jeb?" Caroline held a napkin-lined basket containing several small, heart-shaped scones in front of him.
He hesitated. Laney had seen to it that he knew more than the average rock musician about the rituals of afternoon tea, so he expected a selection of diminutive sandwiches to comprise the light meal's first course. The
Millie leaned toward him and patted his arm. "You still clean up real nice, though."
He did his best to look gratified by the compliment.
"Will you be in town long?" Aggie asked.
"Not sure." Jeb wondered again why they were so eager for him to leave. "But the hockey tickets were a nice surprise. Thank you."
Caroline placed a silver strainer over his cup to catch stray tea leaves as she poured him some fragrant, steaming Earl Gray. "It was our pleasure, Jeb."
Was it? If they wanted him out of town, why give him tickets for a game more than three weeks away? If not for those tickets, he might think they were trying to get rid of him so they could fix Laney up with some man they knew. Because certainly the Graces realized, even if Laney didn't, that most men wouldn't appreciate their love interest's having another man for a best friend.
Millie slipped a transparent slice of lemon into his cup. "You should come by the house and meet our new cat."
Jeb just looked at her. His memories of the Graces' old cat were still uncomfortably vivid. How many times had he climbed the oak tree in the Graces' front yard to rescue stupid Frankie, who always repaid him with a vicious scratching?
As far as Jeb had ever been able to tell, the Graces had made it their mission in life to keep him humble. They twisted him like a pretzel, but for Laney's sake he pretended to be about ninety percent less annoyed with them than he actually was at any given moment. He had even forgiven them—well, almost—for tricking him into wearing that pink rabbit suit.
"Too bad you weren't here in August," Aggie said. "We could have used you at the county fair."
The Graces were always up to their dimpled elbows in charitable fundraisers, and until he'd moved to L.A., Jeb had been their favorite sucker whenever they 'd needed a booth manned. Seeing her great-aunts happy always put a warm glow in Laney's blue eyes, so Jeb had allowed the triplets to inconvenience and humiliate him on a fairly regular basis.
"What did you sell?" he asked, showing polite interest and wishing Laney could witness this proof that he wasn't entirely lacking in social skills.
"Hotdish-on-a-stick," Millie said.
Jeb was as familiar as any other Minnesotan with hotdish, which was essentially any casserole involving meat or poultry paired with noodles or potatoes in a binding sauce, typically canned cream of mushroom soup. But—
"Hotdish-on-a-stick?"
"You slide meatballs and Tater Tots onto wood skewers," Aggie explained. "Then you batter and deep-fry them and serve them with a cup of mushroom gravy for dipping."
"They look like lumpy corndogs," Millie added. "Laney says they're revolting, but they made us some good money for the church ladies' aid society."
"We'd have done even better with Jeb in the booth," Aggie opined. "Women love buying things from dark, dangerous-looking young men."
"Yeah, that's for sure." Millie nodded eagerly. "Put a gold hoop in Jeb's ear and dress him in one of those billowy white shirts and he'd make as good a pirate as Errol Flynn in Captain Blood ." She looked at Caroline. "Remember that for next time."
There wasn't going to be a next time, Jeb promised himself as he drank some tea. Not even if Laney said pretty please and baked him an enormous batch of seven-layer bars without nuts. A man had his limits, after all. A man—
Oh, who was he kidding? He might wander off for a while, but all Laney had to do was tug on that invisible string she'd tied around his heart and he'd come spinning back to her like a human yo-yo, ready to do the Graces' bidding or anything else that would make her happy.
"Jeb?" Caroline held a napkin-lined basket containing several small, heart-shaped scones in front of him.
He hesitated. Laney had seen to it that he knew more than the average rock musician about the rituals of afternoon tea, so he expected a selection of diminutive sandwiches to comprise the light meal's first course. The
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