Waiting On You (Blue Heron #3)(58)

“Why?”

“Because Bryce is going to change the tire.”

Paulie frowned. “Oh.”

“You’re going to be all feminine and helpless.”

“But I know how to change a tire.”

Colleen suppressed a sigh. “And that’s great, Paulie. But today, Bryce gets to change the tire and help you, and feel very manly and smart, because men like to be tricked into thinking they’re in control.”

“Oh. Got it.” Her face started its amazing sunrise impression.

“No panicking. Just do what I say, and Bryce and you can have a nice conversation.”

“What should I say? I feel a little sick. Do I really have to talk to him? Damn it, this stupid deodorant is supposedly extra strength and it’s doing squat. Oh, I hate being in love!”

“We all do at certain times, Paulie.”

Paulie threw herself down on her giant bed and covered her eyes with her hands. One of her cats jumped up and began kneading her thigh. “I can barely think about talking to him, let alone actually talk to him. What if I hurt him again?”

Colleen pondered. “You know what would be great?” she said. “If I could somehow feed you lines. Like Cyrano and Christian. You have a Bluetooth, right?”

Ten minutes later, Colleen pulled around the corner from Bryce’s house, Paulie’s adorable little Porsche purring behind her. Craftily, feeling a bit like Bond, James Bond, Colleen parked and got out, approaching Paulie’s car.

“Okay, babe, this is where you get a flat,” she said. She opened up her Swiss Army knife and stabbed Paulie’s tire.

“Hey!”

“Relax. Now just drive really slow to Bryce’s house, then park, get out and stare at the car, helpless and feminine. That’s your job—to appear helpless and feminine, helpless and feminine. Also, mention that you’re throwing a party and you’d love for him to come. Now go. Into the car. Drive on, little sparrow!”

With a dubious look, Paulie obeyed. “Can you hear me?” Colleen said into her phone when Paulie was almost there.

“Yeah. Colleen, I don’t feel so good.” She made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a dry heave.

“You’re doing great,” Colleen said in her most reassuring tone, the same one that got people who overindulged to hand over their keys. “Okay, stop. That’s his house.”

“I know. I’ve probably driven by a thousand times.”

Colleen’s heart tugged. “This will work, Paulie. Just try to relax and enjoy it.”

From where she stood, Colleen could see her client pull over. This ploy, while definitely on the points-for-difficulty end of what Colleen usually recommended, had worked on her cousin Monica just last year, when Monica had a “bike accident” in front of Fox Den Vineyard. Monica was now married to the Fox Den heir, thank you very much. Colleen had been a bridesmaid, her tenth such gig.

Paulie got out of the car.

“Walk slowly around the car, looking at the tires,” Colleen ordered. “He’ll be out any second.” She glanced at the house. The day was the best of June, bright and lilac-scented. “Okay, squat down and take a look at the tire. Oh, dear, what’s this? It’s flat!”

“Of course it’s flat,” Paulie said. “You stabbed it.”

“I know, but pretend to be surprised and dismayed.”

Paulie hesitated, then bent down. “Oh, shit!” she bellowed. “My tire’s flat! What will I do?”

Colleen bobbled her phone. “Down, girl,” she said. “Easy on the melodrama, and the volume. You don’t want just anyone coming along. And try not to swear.”

“Shit, I forgot about that. Okay.”

They waited. No one came out of the house.

“He’s not home,” Paulie whispered.

“His car is in the driveway,” Colleen said. “He’s probably watching TV or something. Hang on, I’ll get his attention.”

She picked up a handful of pebbles and walked toward the house, sticking close to the shade from the neighbor’s wide maples. There was a thick hedge of lilacs against the eastern side of the Campbells’ place, and she eased into it, the clean, perfect smell of the flowers giving her a contact high.

Bryce lived in the basement, she knew. Didi had made it into a full-scale apartment for her baby boy not long after he dropped out of college.

She threw a pebble. Thanks to thousands of games of darts she’d played over the years, she hit the window on the first try, a satisfying tick against the glass. “Places, everyone,” she whispered into the phone. “He should be out soon.”

A mockingbird called from a tree. The wind blew, brushing a lilac bloom across Colleen’s cheek. Paulie appeared to be frozen in place. “Check the tire like you’re trying to figure out what the heck went wrong,” Colleen whispered. “And be prepared to repeat after me, okay?” Paulie squatted obediently, her short skirt fluttering against her thighs.

Bryce didn’t come out.

Colleen threw another pebble. Waited. Nada. Another pebble. Nothing.

“My legs are burning,” Paulie whispered. “Please let me stand up.”

“Sure, sure,” Colleen said. Paulie stood, groaning, grabbed her ankle and stretched her quads.