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sixteen
“You slept with Detective Callahan?”
Constance’s eyes were so big they looked like the prized bright blue marbles she and Sunny used to carry around in the bags Mom had made before she died. Because their parents were older, a lot of their toys were old-fashioned. None of their friends understood the fun of shooting marbles, or carrying them around in homemade drawstring bags made by your dead mother. Sunny used to pretend she remembered Mom stitching them on her sewing machine, because Constance remembered it, and Sunny hated that Constance had way more memories of Mom than she did.
“You kissed your coach,” Sunny shot back.
“That’s way, way—” Constance made big circles with her arms “—different. What you’re doing is pushing the envelope on bribery, Little Miss Restraining Order. What I did was just a classic caught-up-in-the-moment mistake. And, unlike you, mine won’t happen again.”
“And why not?” Sunny was happy to deflect the conversation back to Cici.
“It’s complicated.” Constance hovered her hands over the rescued beagle’s shoulders, who sat up tall and rigid on his dog bed. He flinched, squeezing his one good eye shut. Constance massaged the air above him, not touching his body, moving slow and rhythmic, until he relaxed. “Humphrey’s a mess,” she cooed. “Even after a week with Dr. Winters.”
“You’ve named him already?”
Her hands finally lit, just barely, on his black-and-tan fur. “It came to me immediately.” Cici sat there, without moving, her hands on his shoulders. Her face broke into a delicate smile when he didn’t move away.
Chevy, jealous of the attention, sat at Constance’s feet and offered a sympathetic whine. “Hey, girl.” Constance gave her a nod, but didn’t move her hands from Humphrey. “Where are your babies?”
“I still keep them in the back room.” Sunny was glad for a topic change. “Chevy roams around as she likes. She’s starting to wean them.” Often, if they suckled too long, the mama would stand up and walk away, irritated. It was funny to watch the pups cling to her nipples. They’d run after her, tripping over their own paws as they tried to hang on.
After a long wait, Constance ran her hands down the beagle’s back, skimming his fur with her palms. A moment later, he sank to the dog bed. “That’s it.”
Sunny plopped down in the armchair across from her. “And what’s so complicated, then?”
Constance sighed and flashed Sunny a look. “Well, let’s just start with the easiest reason. You and the detective want me to help him. If I end up being Rhett’s massage therapist, I can’t go around kissing him. It’s unethical.”
Sunny rolled her eyes. “You haven’t massaged him yet. Not really. So you kissed him first. Does that count? And it was barely a kiss, from what you told me. It’s not like you kissed him during a massage. That’s way different.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Constance continued her therapy with the beagle. Humphrey’s breathing, always shallow with fear, had deepened. His ribs, still prominent through his coat, spread, rose and fell at a steady pace.
“You think too much.” Sunny watched her sister work her magic and, as usual, was slightly jealous of her power. “But I’m not going to get into an argument.”
“That reminds me, I need a favor.”
Sunny’s brows rose.
“Are all your cabins rented out for the Christmas Eve event?”
“Of course.”
“You had a cancellation recently.” Constance had reached Humphrey’s back feet. She ran just her fingertips over the left one. He didn’t move. He might’ve even been asleep. “Rhett’s mother had rented one out for him, and he canceled it. I need you to give it back.”
“Seriously?” Sunny thought back, and remembered that just after Thanksgiving a man had called and canceled a reservation that had been booked by his mother, even though the cost was nonrefundable. “He had a deep voice,” she mused.
“What does that have to do with anything?” Constance lifted Humphrey’s foot and began massaging the pads underneath. The dog took a deep breath and huffed it out in a satisfied sigh.
“It doesn’t,” Sunny said, marveling that the dog was letting her sister touch his feet. “But I can’t give him the cabin. It’s booked.”
“But the massage comes with it,” Constance pointed out. “This is the perfect way for me to help you and Callahan. Or do you not need my help anymore, now that you’re sleeping with him?”
Sunny snapped her gaze up into her sister’s glaring eyes. “So you’re assuming I’m using him.”
“Aren’t you?”
Sunny shrugged. “I’m playing his game. That’s all men do. Play games. He’s the one using me. Or he thinks he is.”
Constance shook her head. “This is why I have to be very careful helping Rhett. This kind of work—” she glanced at Humphrey “—is serious and can’t be messed up with complications. At my end, this is no game.”
