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“What time is he coming?”
Aunt Penny glanced at the clock. “In about ten minutes. Looks like that water is ready for the pasta.” Sophie added the linguine to the pot and took her bags to her room. She ran a brush through her hair and added a swipe of lipstick. She changed out of her casual sweats and pulled on her favorite jeans and a pink cotton sweater with a scoop neck. That would be fine for dinner with the neighbor.
When she returned to the kitchen to check on the pasta, Aunt Penny walked in at the same moment. She’d taken off her apron and looked lovely in a baby blue cashmere cardigan with her pearls.
“I’ll get the pasta.” Sophie drained it in the sink and put it back in the pot with a pat of butter that she stirred in so the pasta wouldn’t stick and to give it a little richness. That was something Aunt Penny had taught her years ago. The chicken breasts were in the big sauté pan now, smothered with the mushrooms and marsala sauce.
“I’ll pour the wine.” Aunt Penny pulled a fresh bottle of chardonnay out of her wine cooler and opened it expertly. She poured a glass for herself and for Sophie. There was a knock at the door and Aunt Penny looked up.
“He’s right on time. Can you let him in?”
Sophie opened the door and smiled at the man standing there holding a bottle of wine. He was average height, maybe five nine or five ten, with wavy brown hair, brown eyes and ridiculously long lashes. He had pale skin and a dusting of freckles across his nose. Very much a boy-next-door look, until he smiled, and dimples appeared on both sides of his mouth giving him a mischievous and intriguing look.
“You must be Sophie?” He held out his hand and Sophie shook it. His grip was firm, his hands slightly calloused.
“And you’re Max?”
He nodded. “I think this is the kind of wine your aunt likes? If not, my mother said it’s a good one.”
Sophie glanced at the label. It was one she didn’t recognize, Flowers. Her aunt’s face lit up when she saw it, though. “How thoughtful, Max. This is my absolute favorite. I’ve just opened another bottle, would you like wine or I also have scotch and bourbon?”
“Wine’s fine, thanks.” Aunt Penny poured him a glass and then went to plate up their food. They ate in the dining room, which also overlooked the park. Aunt Penny had set the table earlier with a fresh white tablecloth. Two tall, tapered candles glowed softly and the sterling silver candlesticks shimmered. It was a cozy setting and as they ate, Sophie learned more about their neighbor.
“Max is dating someone very famous.” Aunt Penny’s eyes twinkled as Sophie noticed a faint blush spread across Max’s cheeks.
“Oh? Who is that?” Sophie asked.
“Millie Moore!” Aunt Penny announced.
“The model?” Sophie recognized the name instantly. Millie Moore was not just a model, she was a supermodel. She was British, impossibly thin and tall of course. She had stick straight, long dark brown hair that was almost black, dark brown eyes, and pouty lips. And she had the kind of figure that made men stop in their tracks—a natural, full chest. The kind that smaller chested women like Sophie envied. Millie was maybe twenty-one or twenty-two, if that. Quite a bit younger than Max.
“Yes, the model. They just celebrated a year together recently,” Aunt Penny confirmed.
“How did you meet?” Sophie was curious how a seemingly average guy like Max would meet and date a supermodel.
“We met on a photo shoot actually forVoguemagazine, a little over a year ago. It was one of their rising stars in the arts issues,” Max said.
“Max’s an author,” Aunt Penny explained.
“Oh? What do you write?” Sophie wondered if she’d read any of his books.
“I write mysteries, my most well known is the Andrew Willard series,” Max said.
Sophie’s jaw dropped. “You’re Max Bennett? I’ve read that whole series. It’s one of my favorites.” The series featured a small-town sheriff in a sleepy New England town that had more than the usual share of mysterious murders.
“That’s me. Your aunt is a bigger fan of my other books, though.” He grinned and Aunt Penny laughed.
“Max also writes romantic comedies under the name Sally Benson.”
That shocked Sophie even more. She’d read all of those books too. Sally put out a book every May and it was always one of the big summer books. Sophie knew that he usually put out two Max Bennett books a year, and like many of his readers, Sophie often wished he could write faster.
“It has to stay a secret, though,” Max said. “I don’t think my mystery readers, many of whom are men, would be too keen about me writing romances.”
“So that’s why the different name?” Sophie asked. She supposed it made sense.
“My publisher insisted. Something about keeping each brand strong. It’s a marketing thing I guess.”
“Does Millie travel a lot?” Sophie imagined she must. She wondered how often they actually got to see each other.
