Page 30 of The Irresistible Distraction

Sebastian opens the door seconds after I ring the doorbell.

“You have a key,” he tells me, his tone already grumpy and disapproving.

“Yes, but it’s rude to just let myself in.”

He reaches toward me for a hug, which is a nice change from all the times I’ve asked him for one and makes me wonder whether I should go out more, give my son the chance to miss me.

I crouch down to the dogs—who are both jumping on me, overeager for their dose of attention—before closing the door and examining my son more discreetly. Sebastian goes to set the table, well behaved and wearing a shirt that only has one hole. His hair looks tousled, most likely because he didn’t bother to pack his brush, but his jeans are hanging off his body, because he’s too thin for the cheaper store brands that don’t have enough size variation. I’ve thought about putting him in girl pants, but the styling is different enough and Sebastian already struggles with being the youngest kid in all his classes. To be younger and in girl jeans? Definitely a dealbreaker.

I turn my attention to Vera. “That smells delicious.”

“It better. Brody texted a few minutes ago to say he’s coming a day early, and that nephew of mine is used to real food.”

“What we normally eat doesn’t qualify?” I peer over her shoulder to see Vera’s making Nutella and banana crepes, which isn’t fancy, but isn’t exactly our more normal fare. There’s a bowl of fresh cream and also strawberries she’s already washed and taken the stems off of, a small but telling change from our normal way (rinse and set the entire store-bought container on the table).

“Brody’s from Beverly Hills, and much as his mother tried to be a grounding influence, my brother raised him with a Michelin palate.”

It’s hard not to roll my eyes. “Is this what I’m going to have to feed Brody from Beverly Hills while you’re gone?” Though there’s no formal arrangement, I’d assumed I’d switch from feeding Vera to occasionally cooking for Brody.

“No, of course not, but my nephew never visits, and I’m so grateful for this trip⁠—”

“Okay, it’s generous.” Very generous, I think silently. “But does that make up for the fact that he hasn’t visited in . . . how long?”

“Close to a decade now.”

Vera pauses in the act of serving, and I’m noticing how nice she looks today, still all-things-Vera in terms of maxi dress and shawl, but this time with noticeable makeup and with a slightly more sophisticated dress. I feel my hackles rising—I know Vera doesn’t get along with her brother, who she’s already described as patronizing and judgy, but is Brody like that too? She’s always spoken about him as though he’s one of her favorite relatives, and yes, he sends flowers and fancy L.A. Burdick chocolate gift baskets every birthday and holiday . . . but that doesn’t mean he’s been nice to her.

“It has been a decade, hasn’t it?” In truth, I remember both of Brody’s visits, even though I didn’t meet him either time. Once he came with his parents for what was supposed to be a weeklong visit, but something happened, and by the time I got back from camp, they were already gone.

Then, when he was in college, he told Vera he and his friends were all coming for their spring break. I was struggling with . . . all sorts of grief at the time, but I remember how excited Vera was. She’d prepped and planned a week of meals, changing and washing all the sheets, sweeping out all the seemingly invisible cobwebs. She’d made a list of potential activities, prepared to play the perfect hostess, while Vernon had sat on the couch, grumbling that their place was about to be invaded. Then, after half a day, a breakfast at her house, and another shared meal at the local lodge, before I even had a chance to meet the famous nephew, the entire group just decided to meet friends at Big Bear.

Vera was crushed, even as she explained that Brody had no real part in the decision, that he’d paid for the meal and she hadn’t wanted to make a fuss.

“Don’t look like that, Sophie. Brody’s a good egg.”

She says the same thing about her sons, who barely call. I know Brody at least calls and emails, but⁠—

“A good kid who never visits. Who’s only coming to stay because he needs a place to crash while he detoxes.” I’ve been trying not to think about it too much because I need this guy to watch Sebastian, and Vera has assured me that college misadventures aside, Brody has matured into a fine young man, but I’m also a bit annoyed that he’s coming a day early, unannounced, which feels similar to flaking and leaving early years ago.

“It’s not that he needs a detox, it’s that since last year⁠—”

“The failed engagement.”

“I know you never looked it up, but it was in the news and⁠—”

There’s a knock at the door, and because Vera’s hands are full and Sebastian’s buried in another book, I brace myself to meet the infamous Brody.

“I can take over the crepes,” I offer, but Vera waves me off, obviously not trusting me with her precious breakfast.

I push Spock and Kirk away, because both are parked at the front door, growling at the scent of a new person.

“I’m with you,” I tell them, pushing their heads aside before I awkwardly swing the door open to find Clark. Sexy Tourist. Standing there in classic out-of-towner clothes (slacks and a polo), with two Louis Vuitton suitcases and a bemused expression on his face.

“Brody?”

He nods, eyebrows slightly raised, a look I can’t decipher on his too-handsome, stupidly chiseled face. “Which makes you the incomparable Sophie.”

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