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Alanna groaned and hit the mute button on the screen. “Rico Torres is such a twit.”
From the kitchen table, Tess squinted at the screen. “Isn’t he that reporter Everly is in love with?”
Alanna snorted. “Yep, but only because she didn’t grow up with him. God, he was such a narcissistic prick. Skinny as a twig and poor as a Charles Dickens character. But he acted like he was king of the universe.”
Alanna mixed the pancake batter a little more aggressively than necessary as memories flooded her mind. She had worked side by side with Ramón Torres, Rico’s father, in the vineyard of The Rose and Thorn for several picking seasons. Ramón hadn’t spoken much English, but they’d developed a mutual, unspoken respect under the hard sun.
Occasionally, when they’d needed to get the grapes off the vine fast, before a heat wave or in a drought year, Ramón would bring his two kids to help. The older daughter, Elena, did the work and never complained. Rico was another story. He’d whine about blisters on his precious hands, dawdle at the end of each row, and wander off for “water breaks” that lasted half an hour. He was worse than useless.
“Well, he’s definitely not skinny as a twig now,” Tess said, snapping Alanna’s attention back to the present. On the screen, Rico spoke confidently into a microphone. Tess was right. Rico filled his suit well. His shoulders were thick, his waist trim. And of course, his raven hair was styled to perfection.
Alanna shrugged as she poured the pancake batter into a new skillet. “He’s just another empty-headed pretty boy.” Rico Torres may have packed on some muscle, but you can’t weight train your way out of being a dick.
“Maybe he’s changed,” Tess offered.
Alanna snorted again. “I doubt it.”
With barely a thought, she pulled a handful of chocolate chips from a bag and sprinkled them over the pancakes to make two smiley faces. It was the way she’d always made them for herself and Layla when they were growing up. And this time she was using real milk instead of the powdered shit, so the pancakes would be even better.
Out of the corner of her eye, Alanna caught movement. Spirit, Tess’s beautiful gray kitten, cautiously approached the kitchen and watched the two women. Tess stood. She dipped down and gave the cat a gentle head rub, then moved to the counter where she turned off the broadcast. Taking two plates down from a cabinet, she gave Alanna an assessing look.
“Want to talk about last night?”
Alanna flipped the pancakes, waited 20 seconds, then flipped one onto each plate. “What’s there to talk about? Your neighbor is a thief. He’s holding my cat hostage even as we speak.”
While Alanna brought the plates to the table, Tess pulled syrup from the pantry and produced a bottle of orange juice from the fridge. In the living room, Spirit jumped onto a padded cat window seat that looked suspiciously handmade with love. The window seat had Sully written all over it. Alanna turned her head away.
Tess set two glasses of orange juice and the bottle of syrup on the table. Finally, she handed Alanna a fork and folded paper towel and sat down across from her.
“Well, it’s not like Sully and I are best friends,” she said, “but honestly? He seems like a great guy.”
“All a façade,” Alanna huffed. “Don’t blame yourself. I was fooled, too.”
When Tess spoke again, her tone was cautious. “Is it possible he was telling the truth?”
Alanna poured a puddle of syrup onto the edge of her plate, then cut her pancake into wedges with her fork. Dunking the pancake wedge into the syrup puddle, she considered Tess’s question. If Sully found a stray cat on the side of the road, would he rescue it, decide to adopt it, and make a beautiful cat tower for it, even if the cat was an utter bitch?
She sighed and set down her fork. Of course he would. Because Tess was right. Sully was a good guy. A great guy. And great guys didn’t steal cats.
“Shit,” Alanna hissed under her breath. She glanced at Tess, who had transformed into a chipmunk, her cheeks filled with pancake. “He didn’t take Petunia, did he?”
Tess swallowed, then shook her head. “I don’t think he did.”
“So, he’s not a cat burglar?”
“I doubt it.”
“Shit,” Alanna repeated. In her heart of hearts, she’d known the accusation was ridiculous even as the words had come out of her mouth last night. But she’d just been so shocked to see Petunia. It’d seemed so inconceivable. Such a ridiculous coincidence. In the light of day, though, the situation looked so different.
“I accused the man of stealing my cat,” Alanna groaned, as the horror of last night’s volcanic eruption of bitchitude replayed in her mind.
Tess’s hazel eyes were sympathetic. “Sully will understand. You were confused. You jumped to conclusions. You just need to apologize.”
Alanna dropped her head into her hands. “I think I might have threatened to call the FBI on him.”
“Oh… Well, you’re going to have to apologize a lot.”
“I’m going to have to grovel.”
