inspiration, without warning, from an unlikely source. That’s it , Story thought. That was how she’d buy some time with Claire and Cooper. Story hugged her slave driver boss and said, “Boss, you’re not a weed, you’re a genius.” Ivy Powers repelled the embrace, and Story dashed out of her cubicle. But after several paces, Story turned back to Ivy and winked.
“You’re not a genius, Ms. Powers,” Story said with sincerity. Then she told her what she needed to hear: “You’re a winner!”
THIRTEEN
C ooper stared at his dinner plate, pushing his meatballs around with disdain. “I hate meatballs,” he mumbled, resting his chin on the table, looking at a giant pile of spaghetti. “Dad was the one who liked—”
“Please, Coop, just . . .” she started, but the doorbell saved them both from another unhappy meal in the house of Payne. “Are you expecting anyone?” Claire asked her son.
Cooper was never expecting anyone, and he gave her a look that said as much. He jumped up from the table and ran to the door. When he opened it, Story Easton greeted him with a wave and a smile. “Hey,” she whispered, as if the two of them shared a secret.
“Hey,” Cooper said, defying the don’t-talk-to-strangers rule. He stared at Story for a moment, and said, “Tell me you have a pizza.”
Story laughed. “Nope, no pizza. Something better.” She smiled, raising her eyebrows. “Way better.”
Story still didn’t have the details of her plan worked out, so when she heard Claire Payne’s footsteps approaching the door, she looked around the entryway, for something—anything—to help her formulate a believable story. She spotted an umbrella stand acting as a stand-up vase for a giant bouquet of wood-handled umbrellas, unusual for an Arizona residence, and next to it, on a small table, sat a big stack of junk mail and some magazines. On the top was the same National Geographic magazine she’d seen at Martin Baxter’s house, except this one was crisp and unopened.
“Hello? Can I help you?” Claire was still in her work clothes, a gray suit jacket and skirt, and Story found her more intimidating than when she’d seen her last. “We’re in the middle of—”
Cooper looked at his mother and widened his brown eyes. “She has something, Mom.”
Tired and distracted, Claire looked at her watch. “Is it a package or something? I didn’t realize the mail came this late.”
Cooper gave Story a knowing look. Story had never liked children much, even when she was a child, but Cooper didn’t irritate her as other kids did. He was smart. He had a future in sarcasm, she felt. And he was the kind of kid who might buy one of her cards when he grew up, or at least make fun of one of Ivy’s. Not to mention, he seemed to be on her team at the moment.
But Claire was going to be more difficult. All moms have built-in bullshit detectors as a result of always being short on time, and from living with men for so long. Story had to act fast, so she mustered every ounce of enthusiasm she could, threw up her arms, and hollered, “You won!”
Cooper’s face lit up. He didn’t care whether they’d won a free car wash, a lifetime supply of popsicles, or the Arizona state lottery.
Claire Payne blurted, “Um, I’m sorry, but we don’t want any—”
“No, no, I’m not selling anything,” Story said, placing a gentle hand on Claire’s arm. “This is real.” Story searched deep for truth, and when she couldn’t find it anywhere, she settled on something better than truth—necessity. “I’m a representative from National Geographic . . . here to deliver your prize.”
Out of patience, Claire said, “Look, I don’t even read it—it was my husband’s.” Claire had spent the last year answering phone calls and accepting packages for a dead man, and it never got any easier. “If he signed up for something, I don’t know—”
“It’s a random sweepstakes,” Story blurted. “Your name was drawn
“You’re not a genius, Ms. Powers,” Story said with sincerity. Then she told her what she needed to hear: “You’re a winner!”
THIRTEEN
C ooper stared at his dinner plate, pushing his meatballs around with disdain. “I hate meatballs,” he mumbled, resting his chin on the table, looking at a giant pile of spaghetti. “Dad was the one who liked—”
“Please, Coop, just . . .” she started, but the doorbell saved them both from another unhappy meal in the house of Payne. “Are you expecting anyone?” Claire asked her son.
Cooper was never expecting anyone, and he gave her a look that said as much. He jumped up from the table and ran to the door. When he opened it, Story Easton greeted him with a wave and a smile. “Hey,” she whispered, as if the two of them shared a secret.
“Hey,” Cooper said, defying the don’t-talk-to-strangers rule. He stared at Story for a moment, and said, “Tell me you have a pizza.”
Story laughed. “Nope, no pizza. Something better.” She smiled, raising her eyebrows. “Way better.”
Story still didn’t have the details of her plan worked out, so when she heard Claire Payne’s footsteps approaching the door, she looked around the entryway, for something—anything—to help her formulate a believable story. She spotted an umbrella stand acting as a stand-up vase for a giant bouquet of wood-handled umbrellas, unusual for an Arizona residence, and next to it, on a small table, sat a big stack of junk mail and some magazines. On the top was the same National Geographic magazine she’d seen at Martin Baxter’s house, except this one was crisp and unopened.
“Hello? Can I help you?” Claire was still in her work clothes, a gray suit jacket and skirt, and Story found her more intimidating than when she’d seen her last. “We’re in the middle of—”
Cooper looked at his mother and widened his brown eyes. “She has something, Mom.”
Tired and distracted, Claire looked at her watch. “Is it a package or something? I didn’t realize the mail came this late.”
Cooper gave Story a knowing look. Story had never liked children much, even when she was a child, but Cooper didn’t irritate her as other kids did. He was smart. He had a future in sarcasm, she felt. And he was the kind of kid who might buy one of her cards when he grew up, or at least make fun of one of Ivy’s. Not to mention, he seemed to be on her team at the moment.
But Claire was going to be more difficult. All moms have built-in bullshit detectors as a result of always being short on time, and from living with men for so long. Story had to act fast, so she mustered every ounce of enthusiasm she could, threw up her arms, and hollered, “You won!”
Cooper’s face lit up. He didn’t care whether they’d won a free car wash, a lifetime supply of popsicles, or the Arizona state lottery.
Claire Payne blurted, “Um, I’m sorry, but we don’t want any—”
“No, no, I’m not selling anything,” Story said, placing a gentle hand on Claire’s arm. “This is real.” Story searched deep for truth, and when she couldn’t find it anywhere, she settled on something better than truth—necessity. “I’m a representative from National Geographic . . . here to deliver your prize.”
Out of patience, Claire said, “Look, I don’t even read it—it was my husband’s.” Claire had spent the last year answering phone calls and accepting packages for a dead man, and it never got any easier. “If he signed up for something, I don’t know—”
“It’s a random sweepstakes,” Story blurted. “Your name was drawn
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