The Hot Mess and the Heartthrob(27)

Ingrid’s at the top of the stairs, gaping at me. She has her hands full, one balancing a massive tray of cookies that are tottering dangerously, the other gripping a large carafe that’s making the scent of coffee waft through the air. Her eyes are as wide as the moon, and about as shocked as I would be if this How to Train Your Vampire book’s main character turned out to have a secret twin.

I wink at her. “Barry Staniglow. I like romances,” I repeat as I steady her cookie tray.

She squeezes her eyes shut, but there’s definitely a smile twitching on her lips.

“I don’t think he’s into your girlfriend,” Elliott stage-whispers to Rossi. “You won’t have to defend her honor tonight by beating up a pop star half your size.”

“Three-quarters,” I mutter to him, which makes Ingrid’s face contort a little more, mostly in amusement. Or so I tell myself.

“Two-thirds at best, and that’s only after you make a pig of yourself at Thanksgiving dinner.” He leans forward and nods to the brunette at the front of the room. “Henri, with an i, short for Henrietta, also known as Nora Dawn, is Rossi’s girlfriend.”

“Dude. I didn’t know you were dating someone.” I hold up a fist.

He glowers.

Elliott snickers. “He redefines overprotective, which is reasonably understandable once you get to know Henri. He thought you were here to woo her.”

“Why?” Giselle mutters. “Why is it always woo? You know you all sound like you’re from another planet when you say woo?”

“That’s the irony,” Elliott replies.

“I’m more worried he’s gonna cause a scene.” Rossi’s got a glower that won’t quit.

“No one’s causing a scene,” Ingrid says quickly. “Promise. I might look harmless, but I’m former military. I still have a few tricks to bring a man to his knees. Plus, I know his mother.”

Hell.

Now I’m picturing myself on my knees in front of a very naked Ingrid, and my brain is short-circuiting.

I would very much like her to bring me to my knees.

“Here, Barry.” Sarah grabs me by the shoulders and points me to the back row. “You can sit by me.”

Ingrid’s eye twitches, and that thing in my head that sometimes helps me be smart re-engages.

I point to Sarah. “Best friend’s wife,” I whisper. “I didn’t know she was coming.”

Makes sense, though, if Nora Dawn’s dating a Fireball. Copper Valley royalty all intermingle. If you know one of us who used to be in Bro Code, it’s two degrees of separation at most to any professional sports player, newscaster, politician, heiress, or restaurant owner here.

Beck really likes food.

I think he knows them all.

“You promised,” Ingrid says softly to me, but her eyes are twinkling like she might actually be glad to see me.

“I said I wouldn’t crash. I didn’t say I wouldn’t participate.”

“You still only get a cookie if there are any leftover after everyone else gets theirs.”

I give her my best youngest child that no one can ever say no to smile.

“I’ve already said no to that exact look sixty-four times today. You get your cookies last.” She’s still smiling though, and as she turns to Sarah to offer her a cookie, she adds, “Don’t even think of taking one for him.”

“Oh, I won’t,” Sarah promises. “He’ll behave next to me. My parents got him a movie gig, and I can ask them to take it away.”

That’s the other reason Sarah’s dangerous. She grew up as the only child of Hollywood’s biggest power couple. She knows things, even if she hates the limelight herself and moved here from California to hide from it.

“I’m here to participate.” I lift my book. “And get this signed.”

“Last,” Rossi growls. “You’ll wait in the fucking bathroom if I tell you to.”

“Ignore him.” Elliott grins at Ingrid. “Last time he took Henri—Nora out in public, he accidentally almost burned her eyebrows off with dessert.”

“And don’t let anyone near her with wine,” Rossi adds. “No flame. No wine. No alcohol, period. Good job on the high railings though.”

“I have children. I’ve got this.” Ingrid offers him a cookie, keeping the tray out of my reach, then smiles at me one more time. “Your left eyebrow is falling off.”

While I fiddle with the fake bushy eyebrows that apparently aren’t working as a disguise, she slips away with the cookies.

“I like her,” Giselle says.

“Does Barry like her too?” Sarah asks.

“I like books,” I insist. “Where are we sitting?”

Sarah points, and I add a limp as I follow her directions to a seat.

“So somebody has a crush on a bookstore owner,” Sarah murmurs as I sit next to her. She has dark hair, bright brown eyes, and is always half-smiling like she has a secret. Given that she’s married to Beck, it’s more likely she always has something to smile about.

He makes the rest of us look bad with all the romantic gestures he’s capable of before he even wakes up in the morning.

“I’m trying out new hobbies.”