Page 81 of A Matter of Time

I nodded, and he eased me close and kissed me. Funny that despite the short span of days that we’d been acquainted, the man was already kissing me like he owned me. He was very possessive, whether he knew it or not.

“Keep dancing, J.” He pulled back, kissing the end of my nose. “I’ll be right out.”

I rolled my eyes, turning off the music as he jogged out of the room.

There was knocking at the front door, so I went to see who it was. The man on the other side of the door looked stunned when I answered.

“Hi.” I smiled brightly.

“Hi,” he said slowly, clearly confused. “Is Sam here?”

“Yeah,” I said as two women joined him in the hall. “Did you want to come in?” I asked them all, stepping back, holding the door open.

I closed the door behind the three and realized the blonde was carrying a large casserole dish. It was covered in tin foil, and she was carrying it with potholders.

“Oh geez.” I smiled at her. “Here, bring that into the kitchen and put it down. I’m so sorry; I didn’t notice you holding anything.”

She smiled wanly and followed me through the living room to the kitchen. I moved the teakettle off the burner so she could put the food down.

“Thank you,” she said quickly, and her voice was beautiful. Round tones like she’d been to boarding school or something. Lots of diction classes. “It’s hot, and it was getting very heavy.”

“What is it?”

“Veal piccata.”

“Mmmm.” I nodded, but I was so not a fan of veal. I tried never to eat baby anything. “Yummy.” I held out my hand to her then. “Hi, I’m Jory Keyes.”

“Oh, well, it’s lovely to meet you, Jory. I’m Christine Montero, and out there in the other room are my brother, Jeff, and my friend Donna Norton.”

“Great.” I nodded. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Well”—she grimaced—“I think we’re supposed to be having dinner.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, um, my brother made a dinner date with Sam about a week ago. I was supposed to cook my specialty that my brother’s apparently been bragging about, and Sam was going to supply the salad and the wine,” she clarified for me. “That was the plan, anyway.”

“Oh.” I was completely unsure of what I was supposed to do at that point. How awkward was this? Worse was that this had been so inconsequential to Sam that he had seemingly not even remembered it. “I see. Well, let’s ask him if he made it to the store.”

She followed me back out to the living room.

“Jeff”—Christine smiled uneasily at him—“I think perhaps this sort of slipped Sam’s mind.”

“What?”

“I told you to call him and confirm,” she said crisply, her tone almost sharp.

“No.” Jeff shook his head, giving me a quick look. “He’s not like that. He’s got this covered.”

It took everything in me not to smile. The man so did not have this covered.

“Hi.” The other woman leaned forward to offer me her hand. “I’m Donna Norton. And you are?”

“Jory.” I smiled at her. “Good to meet you,” I said, looking over at Jeff.

“Hey.” He smiled tightly. “Jeffrey Montero. I live down the hall there in five G.”

“Oh, neighbors,” I blurted. “Great.”