The Book Stops Here (17 page)

I held open the door that led to the patio as Derek carried a tray of glasses and utensils up the stairs. He had worked too late the night before, so I’d forgotten to ask him a question I’d had on my mind. Now as he reached the top step, I said, “Did Alex survive your background check?”

He stopped. “Are you looking for a yes-or-no answer, or do you want to know the details?”

I glared at him. “I want to know that you’re not going to arrest her and ruin our party.”

He gave me a lopsided grin and carried the tray over to a side table. “As long as she behaves herself, I shouldn’t have to arrest her.”

I barely kept myself from pouting. “That’s not the most encouraging response you could’ve come up with.”

“Darling Brooklyn.” Derek came up close and squeezed my shoulders affectionately. “Nothing will ruin the party. The background check was clean and I’m looking forward to meeting our new neighbor.”

I was still stressed out about the party but I felt my muscles relax by a degree or two. “You’re just looking forward to getting more cupcakes.”

“That, too,” he conceded with a quick laugh.

“Me, too,” I confessed. “The woman is a genius with frosting.” I returned downstairs with the empty tray and loaded it up again with cocktail napkins and plastic cups for the kids’ drinks.

Our plan was to serve appetizers and drinks upstairs on the patio while the sun was out and the air was still warm, then move downstairs for a casual dinner around the dining room table. We had expanded the table as far as it could go and had added a sturdy card table at one end to make room for twelve adults and the three Chung children. Their mom, Lisa, had assured me that her kids
wouldn’t feel excluded if we wanted to set the smaller table off to the side and have them sit by themselves, but I thought it would be more fun to include them at the big table.

Six-year-old Tyler had developed a strong crush on me when we first met. And when I’d seen him the other night in the hall, he’d told me he wanted to come home with me. He was a smart little boy with so much charm, I was pretty sure he could hold his own with the grown-ups.

His five-year-old twin sisters, Jessica and Jennifer, were adorable, as well, but much more shy. The girls were actually Tyler’s cousins, but Lisa and Henry had adopted them when their parents were killed in a boating accident a few years ago.

Derek grabbed the tray loaded with napkins and cups to take back upstairs. He had decided to grill vegetables, so he remained on the roof to prepare the grill and arrange the patio furniture while I stayed downstairs to set the dining room table.

The grilled vegetables reminded me of a little-known fact I rarely shared with the world. Namely, Derek had turned out to be a much better cook than I could ever hope to be. This, despite his having been raised in a large home with a mother who employed both a housekeeper and a cook.

I understood that men in general were endowed with some kind of weird gene that allowed them to grill meat without any prior knowledge or experience. But it didn’t seem fair that Derek was also capable of throwing a complete meal together despite never having ventured into the kitchen while growing up.

I, on the other hand, had been helping my mother in the kitchen since I could walk. But in all that time I hadn’t soaked up one lousy thimbleful of cooking ability. Nope, my sister Savannah got it all and became a Cordon Bleu chef just to rub my nose in it.

Lately, however, I’d been trying to improve my cooking skills. I could now make a passable pasta sauce and a yummy coleslaw. I had a signature dessert, too! Maybe I wasn’t the greatest cook yet,
but to give myself some credit, I had been blessed with a truly awesome talent for
eating
food. And if you could be good at only one part, I much preferred it to be the eating one.

It helped that I wasn’t a picky eater; I loved food of all kinds. The thought of Derek’s grilled vegetables was almost as thrilling as the thought of Alex’s cupcakes. I would be mocked for saying so out loud, but grilled vegetables could be very exciting. To me, at least.

Derek had already slathered olive oil and a dash of pepper and sea salt on zucchini, red peppers, skinny Japanese eggplants, fat red onions, and curly radicchio. The rest of the meal—all sorts of fabulous treats we’d ordered from Piccolo—had arrived: three different pasta salads, plus a Caesar salad; thick slices of cold, rare tri-tip roast; a big antipasto platter; and lots of chunky, crusty bread and butter.

I had transferred everything to pretty serving bowls and platters, and now it was all in the refrigerator, waiting for our friends to arrive. Not that I expected to fool anyone by using my own bowls and plates. Even my newer neighbors had somehow learned that I couldn’t cook, so every single person I’d invited had promised to bring a side dish. It was demoralizing, but I would live with it.

The doorbell rang and I jogged out to answer the door.

“Hello, neighbor,” Alex said. She looked smashing in black jeans, a silky green tunic, and gold-flecked flip-flops.

“Hi. You look great.”

“We both look fabulous,” she said with a quick grin.

I stepped aside as she pushed a three-tiered serving cart into my house. “Good grief, how many cupcakes did you bake? And thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Four dozen,” she said, grinning. “We had a new-client meeting yesterday at work and it got testy, so I came home and went a little crazy in the kitchen.”

“I’m sorry about your meeting, but . . .” I homed in on the top
tray. I could see its contents through the clear plastic top. “Oh, God. Are those red velvet?”

She laughed. “Yes. Aren’t they pretty?”

“They’re . . .” I stared, mesmerized, unable to speak for a long moment. I itched to try one right away but managed to control myself. “They’re beautiful.”

“They taste good, too.”

“I believe you.” I led the way back to the kitchen. “Still, I’m sorry you had such a bad day yesterday.”

She shrugged. “It’s a small thing about the meeting. I was just hoping to promote one of my newer brokers to deal with this client, but he’s not going to be able to manage the guy.”

“So you’ll have to handle him?” I realized what I’d said and slapped my hand over my mouth. “Oh, dear. I didn’t mean . . .”

She burst out laughing and grabbed me close in a friendly, one-armed hug. “I love you, Brooklyn.”

“As do I.”

I whirled around at the sound of Derek’s deeply distinctive voice. He stood a few feet away with one eyebrow raised in speculation.

I smiled and held out my hand to draw him near. “Derek, come meet our new neighbor.”

I introduced them formally and they shook hands. For the briefest moment, they stared as though sizing each other up. After an awkward second or two, they both seemed to relax. Was I imagining things? Was I the only one who felt awkward? What was that confrontation all about?

Derek’s smile was smooth. “Your cupcakes are fantastic.”

“I’m so glad you’re enjoying them.” Alex smiled, too, and glanced around, looking completely relaxed. “Brooklyn, I love how you turned your front room into a workshop.”

“Thanks.” I supposed they were both being perfectly cordial, but I felt a coolness. I wasn’t sure why. Did they already know each
other from somewhere in the past? Or did Derek not like Alex? What was there not to like? The woman was gorgeous and smart, ran her own business, and made great cupcakes. Still, I supposed it was a matter of taste.

More important, why wouldn’t Alex like Derek? He was one of the most intelligent, caring, funny, awesome men I’d ever met, as well as being the absolute best-looking manly male on the planet.

Another thought occurred instantly. Maybe Derek liked her more than he thought he would. Was the coolness I sensed actually a strong attraction he was trying to tamp down?

Did Alex feel the same way?

Oh, hell. I hated the sharp sting of doubt that streaked through me at lightning speed. I had no reason to mistrust either of them, especially Derek. Nuts. I was seriously being nuts. Derek loved me and I knew it. I was just grasping at mental straws, trying to find an answer to why Derek and Alex weren’t hitting it off.

I must have been staring into space because I didn’t see Derek move closer until I felt his arm around my shoulders. “Darling, everything’s ready upstairs, so why don’t I pour you both a glass of champagne?”

“Thank you.” With a vague smile, I returned to my task of carefully wrapping the utensils in colorful cloth napkins and placing them on the dining room table.

“Will you have champagne?” Derek asked Alex.

“Sounds wonderful.”

I watched as Alex maneuvered the cupcake cart against the wall nearest the kitchen bar. “Can I leave this here until we’re ready for dessert?”

“That’s a perfect spot for it,” Derek said. “Can they be served right from the cart?”

“Oh, sure,” she said. “It’ll be more fun that way.”

Derek hovered a few inches away, staring at the treats as
though he hadn’t eaten in a week. He glanced up. “Does everyone react to them with such . . . fervor?”

She laughed. “Yes, and I love it.”

“What are the flavors?”

“I made chocolate mint, pineapple coconut, red velvet, and marshmallow cocoa. Twelve of each flavor. And they all have a special treat baked into the middle.”

“Dear Lord,” Derek muttered. “You are a witch.”

“A
good
witch,” I added quickly.

She beamed with delight. “Thank you.”

And just like that, the tension between them seemed to dissipate. It was just as I’d noticed before: all the world’s problems could be solved by sharing a few dozen cupcakes.

Derek’s eyes became dark with purpose. “I definitely choose the marshmallow cocoa.”

“Excellent,” I said. “I’m red velvet.”

He nodded. “Good to know we won’t have to fight for the same flavor.”

A few minutes later, he jogged up the stairs to check the grill. Alex joined me in the kitchen while I washed and dried a few dishes. “Derek seems like a great guy.”

“He’s the best.”

“How did you meet him?”

I sighed. “We were involved in a murder together.”

“Ah, romantic.” She took a sip of her champagne and then leaned in closer. “So, tell me. Was he with Scotland Yard? Interpol?”

I backed up. “What?”

She smiled knowingly. “I recognize that International Man of Mystery type.”

“What do you mean?”

Ignoring my words, she reconsidered her choices. “Oh, wait. He’s got to be with MI6.”

Moving deliberately, I reached for the dish towel and dried my
hands. “If you know enough to recognize the type, then you must know that if I told you what you wanted to know, you wouldn’t live long enough to enjoy the party.”

Her eyes widened and she began to laugh. She finally had to set down her champagne glass, she was laughing so hard.

“Did I miss something funny?” I asked.

She took a deep breath as her laughter subsided. “I really do like you, Brooklyn.”

“Lucky me.” I hung up the dish towel before facing her directly. “Let me ask you something. What do you really think of Derek?”

Alex seemed to seriously consider the question as she pursed her lips in thought. “He’s gorgeous, obviously. Wonderfully tall. I imagine he has good taste in everything. He’s smart, especially for choosing to be with you. Sharp sense of humor. Dangerous. Calculating. A risk taker. Ridiculously alpha. Not my type at all.”

“Why not?”

“Way too dominant.”

I frowned. “He likes kittens.”

“Everybody likes kittens,” she said with another quick laugh.

I took a moment to pull a cheese platter from the refrigerator and set it on the counter to allow the cheeses to soften. “So, how did you know he . . . I mean, why do you think he worked in intelligence?”

She took another sip of champagne before answering. “I’ve had some experience in the field.”

“Oh? What did you do?”

She grinned. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

•   •   •

T
he party was a huge success, if I did say so myself. It was lovely to see my friends and neighbors enjoying one another’s company. The Chung children managed to behave well while having a blast at the same time. And none of them got hurt or cried too loudly.

Six-month-old Lily, the baby that Suzie and Vinnie had become guardians for, was a naturally happy child. She giggled and smiled for everyone and we all took turns holding and cuddling her.

Each of the guests came up with names for the kitten. Frisky and Dusty were suggested, and Bookie, because of my job, of course. A few of us argued over Snowflake and Mrs. Bigglesworth. Mrs. Chung liked Sweetie Pie, Tyler preferred Killer, and Jessica voted for Poofy. Jennifer, who was naturally more introspective than her twin, gave it a lot more thought and finally whispered her choice in my ear. “Tickles.”

“That’s a good one,” I assured her. I wrote all the names down and Derek and I promised to consider each one. But I didn’t think we’d arrived at the perfect name for our kitten yet.

After my odd moment with Alex earlier in the kitchen, I wasn’t sure what to think. But an hour into the party, she found me at the kitchen sink again while everyone else was laughing and talking upstairs. Taking a deep breath, she leaned against the counter and faced me. “I was a covert operative for many years.”

That was the last thing I had expected her to say. “Did you work for the CIA?”

She smiled. “I’m not giving you any details except to say that I had a talent for languages. I was recruited right out of college, a fresh, young thing determined to make a difference in the world. I found myself working for men whose only interests were in gaining power and control.” She shrugged. “So what else is new, right?”

“Sad, but true,” I said.

“I was a slow learner,” she said with a rueful twist of her lips. “After a year of hitting my head against a wall, I started playing their game, fighting for every crumb I could get—while still upholding the highest standards of conduct, of course.” Alex’s smile dissolved as she dipped into memories that were clearly not
pleasant. “I managed to rise up the ranks fairly quickly after that. I refused to let anything stand in my way.”