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“Here.” I thumb away a smudge of lipstick from her chin, and she smiles, returning the favor.
We both drink in air, and both slap a smile on our faces, and then we both glance at each other before I open the door and let Lainey lead the way.
Sal appears at the kitchen doorway, looking harassed, more Scotch in his grasp. “Moya, she’s here.”
Sal’s wife presents herself to Lainey, wiping her hands on her apron. “Lovely to meet you.” She smiles brightly, but I’ve seen enough women to know when they’re mentally assessing another woman, and right now Moya is really assessing Lainey. And it hasn’t escaped Lainey’s notice, the poor woman shifting from heel to heel, her eyes darting anywhere except at Moya. I can guarantee I know what Moya is thinking, too. She’s thinking Lainey is fucking gorgeous and she’s not put out to Sal for a long while. I smile on the inside, wondering if this might be the nudge Moya needs to get her knickers off.
“And you, Moya.” Lainey holds out the remnants of the broken pot. “I’m so sorry, it slipped from my hand on the doorstep.”
“Oh.” Moya eyes the plant. “A peace lily?”
Lainey smiles, and it’s painfully awkward. “Thank you for inviting me.”
“Of course.” Moya takes the broken pot, walks over to the bin, stamps on the pedal, and drops it in. I balk, stunned, and Lainey simply shrugs as Moya tops up her red wine. “What are you drinking?”
“I’ll have a white, if that’s okay?” Lainey replies, unsure and fidgety.
“Sure. Ty, the white’s in the fridge.”
“Got it.” I follow Moya’s prompt obediently, grateful to be kept busy, and keen to get a drink in Lainey’s hand. She probably needs it. I locate, pour, and hand the glass over without so much as looking at her.
“Not joining me?” Sal asks, raising his Scotch to me.
“Driving,” I mutter, so wishing I could take the road to drunken oblivion that Sal seems to be intent on heading down. And Moya, for that matter. Both are knocking drinks back at an epic rate.
“We should go through to the dining room,” Moya says, passing us with the basket of bread that she was throwing around the kitchen a minute ago.
“Where’s Mia?” I ask, following her through, Sal and Lainey behind.
“Sal, where’s Mia?” Moya looks at her husband for an answer as she places the basket in the middle of the table.
“Still on the trampoline. I’ll go fetch her.” He looks full of dread at the prospect.
“No, leave her. She’ll eat when she’s ready.”
“Moya,” Sal sighs. “She should eat with us at the table. How is she going to learn manners and etiquette? And we should be calling the shots, not our four-year-old.”
Moya’s nostrils flare as I take a seat, wary on behalf of my pal. “I’ve battled with her all day, Sal. Forgive me for wanting some peace at the end of it.”
“It won’t be peaceful, though, will it? Come bedtime, there’ll be another fit, and she’ll end up going to bed at ten, and we’ll be snuggled up with her.”
“I’ll go.” Lainey points to the patio doors leading out to the garden. “You never know, she might listen to me.”
Sal laughs sardonically and Moya scowls, but Lainey heads out anyway. The poor woman probably just wants to escape the frosty atmosphere. She’ll be back in two seconds, maybe looking like she’s been to war. She’s braver than I am, that’s for sure. But she’s not back in two seconds and after a chat about the weather and anything else mindless and pointless, I look down at my watch. Five minutes. I’m about to suggest to Sal that he should maybe go check that Lainey’s still alive, when she appears at the door holding Mia’s hand.
“Mia’s ready for dinner,” she declares, smiling. She doesn’t look stressed at all. Not even remotely scathed. I glance at Sal and Moya, who are both looking at their daughter incredulously as she walks quietly around the table and takes a chair at the end. Has Lainey injected her with a sedative or something?
“Lainey,” Moya says, eyes still on Mia, who is now sitting primly waiting to be fed. “You’re sitting there.” She points to me, and I go from stunned to flat-out panicked in a second. Next to me? Oh, no.
“Thanks.” Lainey pulls the chair out, and I shuffle my chair away a little as I clear my throat.
“Smells delicious.” I’m talking for the sake of it. I can’t smell anything except Lainey’s light citrusy scent. And now she’s right fucking next to me. And if I just reach under the table, I can . . .
My hand wanders and lands on Lainey’s knee, making her jump and her wine splash up the glass. “You have a beautiful home,” she blurts as Moya serves up the beef.
