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“Because you’re a writer and you have a vivid imagination?”
“I write nonfiction.”
“Because you’re a member of my family, which means you’re privy to the ridiculous speculations of my mother and sister?”
Jared nodded. “True. So, are the speculations correct?”
Mick trusted Jared like he trusted no one else in the world. But he wasn’t ready to go there. He’d never told anyone the full story of his relationship with Caroline and he wasn’t about to now that she was back in his life. “No comment.”
Jared didn’t press. “Just for the record, if there is any truth in the rumors, I happen to like her. She’s the only sane one in the asylum.”
“That bad?”
Jared rolled his eyes and drew in a long breath. “How the hell Gwen and I ever let Hildy talk us into allowing this TV show to film at the inn, I’ll never know.”
“She can be pretty persuasive,” Mick said, thinking about Gwen’s elderly relative who had a will of steel and the wardrobe of a twenty-year-old. “She even got Grandpa to start wearing sandals.”
Jared visibly shuddered. Neither of them were sad to see their grandfather so happily involved in an autumn—make that winter—years romance. But Hildy? Well, she was almost a decade older than their octogenarian grandfather. And she certainly wasn’t much like their late grandmother.
Still, everyone adored her, quirky habits, ghosts and all. “Next thing you know she’ll have theQueer Eyeguys over to redo his house.”
Mick snickered, then asked, “So tell me how it’s going.” He was curious in spite of himself. “I’ve heard tons of gossip but none that sounded reliable.”
“The gossip’s true. Hollywood is every bit as nutty as you’ve ever imagined it was.”
“Example.”
Jared leaned forward. “Remember the huge old tree in the backyard, on the east side of the house?”
Mick nodded. “You mean the one you tried to climb even though you’re afraid of heights?”
He should have known better than to bring up that subject. Jared shot him a look that would freeze lava, still blaming Mick for his role in the Halloween mix-up last year.
“Sorry. Sore subject.”
Jared relented. “Aww, hell, it brought me Gwen.”
So it had. Jared had met Gwen last year, after receiving Mick’s invitation to an in-character Halloween party. Jared had shown up at the Little Bohemie Inn as Miles Stone, a tree-climbing secret agent. Luckily, Gwen had been a woman who liked secret agents.
Unfortunately—fortunately?—the party had been held a yearbeforethat Halloween night.
“So, I’m forgiven for not telling you youweren’ta superspy?”
“Didn’t you realize you were forgiven when I asked you to be my best man?”
Mick gave him a wicked grin. “I figured you asked me because you have no other friends.”
Jared shot right back. “Who said you were my friend?”
“Asshole.”
The two of them burst into laughter, well used to the back and forth insults they’d lobbed at one another all their lives. Though a cousin, Jared was as close to Mick as a brother. He, Jared and Sophie had grown up like siblings.
Remembering what Jared had been saying, Mick asked, “What’s this about the tree?”
Jared groaned. “This director, Renauld Watson, is a lunatic.”
“I’d heard rumors about that. He got his way on having Decatur Street shut down all day this coming Saturday, in spite of people’s protests, didn’t he?”
