their parade.
Kerrie Ann must have sensed something amiss because she paused to eye Lindsay thoughtfully on her way out, as if there were something more she wanted to say. Then the moment passed and she was gone, leaving Lindsay to wonder what role, if any, she would be playing in her sister’s life. Would they grow closer over time as they grew more comfortable with each other, or would their relationship merely be one of getting together once or twice a year and exchanging cards at Christmas? For once she wished she could be more like Miss Honi. The old woman had taken Kerrie Ann into her arms and given her a good Texas-sized hug while Lindsay hadn’t even recognized her own sister.
At the same time, a tiny splinter of worry pricked at her. She remembered Kerrie Ann’s facetious remark about being a bad penny. Suppose it was no joke? Would the fulfillment of her wish become a case of being careful what you wish for?
“Thanks again for the ride, Ollie. I know it’s out of your way,” said Lindsay as they rattled over the private road to her house. It was late in the day, the sun a golden rind peeking over the fog bunched along the horizon. They’d been delayed by a last-minute influx of customers, those who hadn’t heard about tomorrow’s event being canceled and who’d wanted to snag a copy of Blood Money before they were all sold—the second time that day she’d been inconvenienced by the no-show Randall Craig. Now she’d have to hustle to make it to the party on time.
Ollie, his hands loosely curled around the steering wheel of his Willys, the World War II–era jeep he and his dad had restored, replied amiably, “No problemo. Hey, it’s not like I have anything lined up for tonight. Not that I’d turn down an invitation to some cool party, even if it was, like, last-minute,” he hinted broadly.
Lindsay cast him an indulgent smile. “Forget it. The last thing I need is to show up with an entourage.” It was enough that she would have her sister and Miss Honi in tow.
“What, you’d deny me the chance to meet the love of my life? What if the perfect woman happens to be there, just waiting for a guy like me to show up?” He gave her a pleading look, which, with his big brown eyes and wide, mobile mouth, his hair even more wild than usual from the air blowing in through the window, only made him look like a shaggy dog begging for treats.
“I hate to break it to you, Ollie, but Julia Child’s no longer with us,” she informed him, doing her best to keep a straight face. “Besides, the only women who’ll be at the party are clients’ wives.”
“Go on, mock me,” he said in an injured tone as he slowed to ease the Willys over a pothole. “Why should you take me seriously? No one else does. Around here I’m just the muffin man.”
“Who happens to make the meanest muffins in town.”
“Thanks, but I’d rather be known as a stud muffin,” he continued in the same vein. “My problem is, I’m too freaking nice .” He spoke the word as if it were an insult. “In school? I was always the one the girls confided to about other guys, the ones they liked. The way I see it, girls don’t want nice, they want six-pack abs and day-old stubble. You know, the type of guy who’d rather have his girlfriend’s name tattooed on his arm than have a meaningful conversation with her. Who keeps nothing but beer and maybe some thousand-year-old Chinese takeout in his fridge.”
Lindsay refrained from reminding him of the time he’d come dangerously close to being that kind of guy.
“If you’re trying to make me feel sorry for you, it’s not working,” she told him. “And for your information, there’s nothing wrong with the way you are. I’ll take nice any day over six-pack abs and stubble. Though I suppose my opinion doesn’t count, since I’m so ancient.”
He grinned, going along with the joke. “I happen to like older women. Take your sister, for instance—she’s hot. Seriously, I
Kerrie Ann must have sensed something amiss because she paused to eye Lindsay thoughtfully on her way out, as if there were something more she wanted to say. Then the moment passed and she was gone, leaving Lindsay to wonder what role, if any, she would be playing in her sister’s life. Would they grow closer over time as they grew more comfortable with each other, or would their relationship merely be one of getting together once or twice a year and exchanging cards at Christmas? For once she wished she could be more like Miss Honi. The old woman had taken Kerrie Ann into her arms and given her a good Texas-sized hug while Lindsay hadn’t even recognized her own sister.
At the same time, a tiny splinter of worry pricked at her. She remembered Kerrie Ann’s facetious remark about being a bad penny. Suppose it was no joke? Would the fulfillment of her wish become a case of being careful what you wish for?
“Thanks again for the ride, Ollie. I know it’s out of your way,” said Lindsay as they rattled over the private road to her house. It was late in the day, the sun a golden rind peeking over the fog bunched along the horizon. They’d been delayed by a last-minute influx of customers, those who hadn’t heard about tomorrow’s event being canceled and who’d wanted to snag a copy of Blood Money before they were all sold—the second time that day she’d been inconvenienced by the no-show Randall Craig. Now she’d have to hustle to make it to the party on time.
Ollie, his hands loosely curled around the steering wheel of his Willys, the World War II–era jeep he and his dad had restored, replied amiably, “No problemo. Hey, it’s not like I have anything lined up for tonight. Not that I’d turn down an invitation to some cool party, even if it was, like, last-minute,” he hinted broadly.
Lindsay cast him an indulgent smile. “Forget it. The last thing I need is to show up with an entourage.” It was enough that she would have her sister and Miss Honi in tow.
“What, you’d deny me the chance to meet the love of my life? What if the perfect woman happens to be there, just waiting for a guy like me to show up?” He gave her a pleading look, which, with his big brown eyes and wide, mobile mouth, his hair even more wild than usual from the air blowing in through the window, only made him look like a shaggy dog begging for treats.
“I hate to break it to you, Ollie, but Julia Child’s no longer with us,” she informed him, doing her best to keep a straight face. “Besides, the only women who’ll be at the party are clients’ wives.”
“Go on, mock me,” he said in an injured tone as he slowed to ease the Willys over a pothole. “Why should you take me seriously? No one else does. Around here I’m just the muffin man.”
“Who happens to make the meanest muffins in town.”
“Thanks, but I’d rather be known as a stud muffin,” he continued in the same vein. “My problem is, I’m too freaking nice .” He spoke the word as if it were an insult. “In school? I was always the one the girls confided to about other guys, the ones they liked. The way I see it, girls don’t want nice, they want six-pack abs and day-old stubble. You know, the type of guy who’d rather have his girlfriend’s name tattooed on his arm than have a meaningful conversation with her. Who keeps nothing but beer and maybe some thousand-year-old Chinese takeout in his fridge.”
Lindsay refrained from reminding him of the time he’d come dangerously close to being that kind of guy.
“If you’re trying to make me feel sorry for you, it’s not working,” she told him. “And for your information, there’s nothing wrong with the way you are. I’ll take nice any day over six-pack abs and stubble. Though I suppose my opinion doesn’t count, since I’m so ancient.”
He grinned, going along with the joke. “I happen to like older women. Take your sister, for instance—she’s hot. Seriously, I
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