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“I was making our tea. Now you can join us.” She gave a little shiver as a blast of night air whisked through the front hall. Hastily, she shut the door, rubbing warmth back into her arms. “Brrr. I’m getting old. The calendar says it’s spring. But to me, it’s still winter.”
“Age has nothing to do with it,” Sloane assured her, wincing as she pulled off her gloves. “My hand is killing me. If March plans to go out like a lamb, it better hurry up and do a one-eighty.”
At that moment, an outbreak of barking erupted from the rear of the house, followed by the skidding and scuffing of padded paws as the dogs raced across hardwood floors.
“I think your trio knows you’re here,” Elsa said with a chuckle. “You say your hellos. I’ll get the tea and biscuits ready—for us, and for the dogs. They get special treats, too. My ten o’clock ritual has become quite the event.” On that note, she headed off to the kitchen.
An instant later, Moe, Larry, and Curly hurled themselves into the room, tripping and shoving one another in an attempt to be the first to reach Sloane. She squatted down in time for the onslaught, starting with a group hug, then giving each one special attention. Her face was licked so many times that the chill in her cheeks dissipated.
“Hey, guys, I missed you, too—so much,” she told them fervently.
Moe yipped a protest.
Sloane recognized the tone and stroked Moe’s silky head. “I keep telling you guys is a generic term,” she murmured. “It’s a loving reference that’s not gender specific.” She kissed the top of Mona’s head. “So it includes gals. I promise. You know I adore you all equally. You’re just better at slathering on the guilt.”
“She’s female. What did you expect?” Burt strolled out, Princess Di in his arms. “By the way, no need to worry about Moe’s ego. She and Di have won the last three rounds of tug-of-war. Larry and Curly are starting to feel the pressure.”
Sloane laughed. “What can I say? Women have killer instincts when it comes to competition.”
“Right.” Burt fell silent, his lids hooded as he watched Sloane romping on the floor with her dogs.
She took no offense. Burt was a moody guy—friendly one minute, quiet the next. The divorce had hit him hard, which probably explained the way he tensed up around Sloane. Actually, around all women, Elsa had once confided. It seemed that Burt’s wife had been carrying on with another man. Burt had walked in on them in his house, his bed. And it had all unraveled from there.
The divorce had been ugly, and Burt had walked away with the Classic Pages—the literary bookstore he owned and ran, the cabin in the Catskills he lived in, and a very bitter taste in his mouth.
He was a nice-looking guy in his early forties—lean, with short brown hair, scholarly features, and probing dark eyes. These days, he spent most of his time at his bookstore or here at his mother’s. Partly to help her out. Partly because they each filled a void for the other.
“I think Di is jealous,” he remarked now as the frisky Pomeranian struggled out of his arms and ran over to join in the lovefest.
“No reason for that. Let’s fix it.” Sloane leaned forward, scratching Princess Di’s ears and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Thank you for sharing your home with Moe, Larry, and Curly,” she told Di. “You’re a beautiful, gracious hostess.”
“And an active one,” Burt added. “Believe me, she more than keeps up with your three.”
“That’s quite a feat.”
Elsa poked her head out of the kitchen. “Our tea is ready,” she announced. “Everyone join me in the kitchen.”
The cherrywood kitchen was warm and inviting. The table was set up for a formal tea, complete with china, a silver tea service, and a perfectly arranged tray of shortbread cookies. On the floor beside the table was the canine corner—four water bowls, and a chinette plate with four biscuits on it.
“This looks lovely, Elsa,” Sloane told her. “A real treat after the week I’ve had.” She cocked her head in the direction of the drumming paws. “Assuming we’ll have peace to enjoy it.”
“They’re usually polite,” Elsa said, supervising as the four dogs sprinted in and went straight for the biscuit plate. “One each,” she reminded them. “If you share, you each get seconds.”
Sure enough, each dog snatched up a biscuit, then went to a separate spot to chomp on it.
Sloane blinked. “Could you teach me how to do that? Clearly, I’m lacking something in the etiquette training area.”
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Elsa smiled. “They’re just like children. Better behaved at someone else’s house, and far more enthusiastic about the snacks they’re offered. When Burt was in grade school, he always came home telling me about the great snacks he’d had at his friends’ houses. I’d call their mothers to find out what these amazing new treats were, only to learn we already had them. Then the other mother would inevitably rave about how well behaved Burt was, how neat and polite. I wondered if it was the same boy who scribbled on the walls with black crayon and chased down squirrels on our property—”
“Mother, I think you’ve made your point,” Burt interrupted. “Sloane doesn’t need a biography of my childhood.”
“Of course, dear.” Elsa gave him an apologetic look. “Let’s enjoy our tea while the pups are busy.”
They all sat down, and Elsa poured the tea and passed around the shortbread. “Tell us all about your trip,” she urged Sloane as they ate. “Was it successful?”
“Yes,” Sloane replied. “Exhausting, but successful.”
