Page 35 of A Whim and a Prayer

Her mother rose to cut the cake, and Winnie arched a brow in protest. “Mother, I’m eighteen, so I think I can cut my own cake.

“As long as she doesn’t bleed on it like she did when she was fourteen,” Henry said with a grin.

Winnie tossed her curls in tease, knife poised to slice the cake. “There was hardly any blood at all, I’ll have you know.”

“That’s because it was red velvet,” Henry whispered loudly to his wife, causing another ripple of chuckles around the table.

Laughing along with the others, Winnie proceeded to cut the cake, dispensing pieces around the table while she teased her brother with a royal lift of her head. “Well, this year’s cake is white, for your information, Hot Shot, so there shouldn’t be any blood.” She licked a splotch of icing off her finger with a sassy jut of her brow. “Unless it’s yours.”

“So, Beckett,” her mother said as soon as everyone was served and gobbling down cake, “how was Winnie’s party at the Ocean Ballroom last night?”

The cake turned to sawdust in Winnie’s mouth, lodging in her throat so hard, she began to hack.

“You all right, Pooh?” Beck asked, patting her firmly on the back. He handed her his glass of water. “Here, take a drink.”

Winnie gulped it down long and hard, thinking she’d much rather “take a powder” than talk about last night to her mother. A woman cunning and cagey enough to know she’d get far more information from her daughter’s best friend than from her daughter.

“Goodness, sweetheart, are you okay?” Her mother seemed to study her with concern, yes, but also that blasted speck of suspicion Winnie always saw in her eyes.

Not if you grill Beck, Winnie thought, finishing almost all of Beck’s water straight up—a man so honest he could barely evade the truth, much less ever attempt to lie. Not to mention her mother was a detective of the highest degree, so masterful she could probably extract information from a deaf mute who was dead asleep. A knot ducked in Winnie’s throat as she patted her lips with her napkin. “Yes, Mother, I’m fine—just went down the wrong pipe, that’s all.”

“Good. Now, Beckett—back to Winnie’s party.” Her mother took another bite of cake, focusing on Beck with pinpoint precision as she slowly slid the fork out of sealed lips, as if to glean the last glaze of icing. “Was it fun?”

Swallowing a bite of cake, Beck nodded as he calmly took a sip of what was left of his water. “I think everybody had a pretty good time.” He tweaked the back of Winnie’s neck as she took a drink of her lemonade, making her shoulders scrunch. “Especially this one here.”

Gulp. The lemonade turned sour in her mouth as she swallowed hard, giving Beck’s leg a light kick under the table. Especially this one here??? Winnie bit back a silent groan. Come on, Beck—that’s sirloin steak to a bloodhound!

Henry chuckled as he finished his cake, then started on Amy’s half-eaten piece. “Winnie’s a master at having ‘a good time,’ and I’m proud to say I taught her everything she knows.”

Amy giggled as she pinched his side. “Pride for you, but worry for your mother.”

Charity nodded at her daughter-in-law. “Thank you, Amy—no truer words.” She neatly shifted back to Beck. “So … who was there?”

Winnie jumped in, not about to give Beck a chance to answer this one. “Everybody showed except for a couple of my girlfriends who were sick, so it was Bella, Laney, and Abs, of course, Kelli, Kat, and Marilyn from school, then Teddy, Will, and Beck.” She glanced at Beck with a smile. “So with three guys to six girls, we kept the boys jumpin’, I can tell you that.”

“Sounds like a grand time, sweetheart,” Grandma said.

“It was, Grandma”—she pumped her brows in jest—“especially the haul of presents I got.”

“So, how was the cake?” Her mother asked with an eager look in her eyes. “It’s a new recipe I created myself, so I worried I overbaked it.”

Winnie shook her head. “Oh no, Mother, it was wonderful—thank you!”

Charity turned back to Beck. “What did you think, Beck—too much chocolate? Not enough?”

Beck paused as he shot a quick look at Winnie.

“More than enough, Mother,” Winnie rushed in, “just the perfect amount.”

“Well, I’m thinking of entering it into a baking contest at the club, so I really need an honest opinion”—her smile went flat as she slid a sideways glance at Winnie’s father—“and I can’t trust your father because he thinks everything with sugar is good.”

“I hear you, Pop,” Henry said, finishing off the rest of Amy’s leftover cake.

Charity zeroed in on Beck once again. “What did you think, Beck? Could you taste the almond extract?”

Beck paused way too long, and Winnie’s heart did too.

“Well, unfortunately, Mrs. Dennehy … I didn’t get any.”