Waiting On You (Blue Heron #3)(94)

Well, how about an almond? Harmless creatures, almonds. Except this one appeared to be petrified. Onto the goat cheese. That, at least, was delicious. A little clot of it fell off her fork and shot right down into her cle**age. Colleen opted to pretend that didn’t happen.

Lucas smiled.

“And how was your day, dear?” she asked.

“Wonderful.” He tried to cut a beet, failed and took a bite of arugula, chewed, winced and washed it down with a lot of water. Sue her. It wasn’t arugula season, and yes, fine! It was bitter. “How’s Paulie today?”

“Sad. Hungry.” She tried another almond. Crikey, the thing was as hard as a pebble. Hopefully her molar hadn’t just cracked. “How’s Bryce?”

“Unemployed once again.”

“Yeah, I heard about that.” From the kitchen came a popping sound.

Damn it! She’d turned up the heat under the scallops to warm them up, as she maybe cooked them a tiny bit early (like, two hours too early). “Back in a flash.”

Scallops, she learned, could be both leathery, burnt and yet still undercooked. The celery root and potato puree was the consistency of water; perhaps she shouldn’t have boiled the ingredients quite so much, but she’d been trying to speed things up. The carrots and parsnips were okay, if you liked tasteless, rubbery vegetables.

Ah. Here was one small scallop that was only charred and not raw. She ate it, cringing at the carbon flavor, and heard the unmistakable crunch of sand.

“This is delicious,” Lucas said. “Maybe we can go out for cheeseburgers later on.”

She closed her eyes in defeat. “Okay, it’s a disaster. You’re very welcome.”

“I’m very grateful. You get an A for effort. Next time, I’ll cook for you instead.”

She peeked at him through her lashes.

When the Prince of Darkness was smiling, women everywhere should lock up their special places.

A hot, electric ripple spread through her, nearly painful, it was so intense.

Her special places weren’t going to be locked up, nuh-uh.

“I did have some success with dessert,” she said.

“Then let’s have dessert.”

“Shall we leave ground zero and eat in the living room?”

“Sounds good.”

He picked up the wine and their glasses, and she took a few candles that were failing to mask the odor of char, and set them on the coffee table. It smelled better in here, at least, and it was cozy and neat, except for the magazine Rufus had apparently eaten and regurgitated at some point when she was wrangling veggies. She sighed and went to the kitchen, returning with the paper towels.

“Let me do that,” Lucas offered.

“Just sit there and look pretty.”

The rain had picked up, and it was such a lovely sound, the patter and tap, the occasional car passing. Rufus crooned at Lucas and splayed himself obscenely.

Colleen ignored her slutty pet (though she knew the feeling) and went into the kitchen, washed her hands twice in the crowded sink, then got two servings of pudding from the fridge and put the berries on top. Beautiful. At least they’d have this. She might suck as a chef, but she could handle dessert. The necessities in life, that was the theory.

Carrying the ramekins into the living room, Colleen decided that all was not lost. There was Lucas, sitting on the floor in front of the couch, idly scratching her dog’s belly. “You’re allowed on the furniture, you know,” she said.

“I’m good here,” he answered.

Yes, he was. He’d be even better in her bed.

She swallowed a bite of pudding, which unfortunately had a raspberry in it. An unchewed raspberry. Some very racy choking ensued.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” she wheezed, grabbing a tissue to wipe her streaming eyes. “Good, good. It’s all good. If you can choke, you can breathe.” She choked again, involuntarily. “See?”

He waited until she was breathing more or less normally, then resumed eating the pudding. Which was excellent, thank you very much.

A flash of lightning lit up the living room, and thunder rumbled in the distance, and shit, Rufus hated thunder. On cue, he bolted upright, knocking Lucas’s pudding onto the floor and racing straight for Colleen’s womb.

“No, boy! No! Calm down! It’s okay!” She oophed as he head-butted her abdomen, seeking shelter. “Off, boy. Down.”

Roooo, he moaned, shuddering.

“Hang on,” Colleen muttered, trying to stand, which was not that easy, not with a hundred and sixty pounds of terrified mammal on her lap. “I have a tranquilizer for him.”

Ah rooo rooo rooo, her beloved pet moaned.

“Come here, boy,” Lucas said, standing up. He hauled the dog off her, and she got up and scrambled for the kitchen. For the love of St. Patrick...the mess in here seemed to have grown. It would take weeks to clean up.

She found Rufus’s meds, took a scoop of peanut butter and went back to the living room. “Here you go, boy. Sleepy time. That’s a good puppy.”

He licked obediently, his eyes still tragic, and she knelt down and hugged him. “Good puppy. Good boy. Come on, let’s go to bed.” She led him into the bedroom, told him to lie down, then stroked his giant head until his pretty eyes closed.

Doggy all set. God bless the vet who’d prescribed those drugs. They worked fast and wore off fast, just what you needed for a thunderstorm. Alas, her black dress was now covered with rough gray fur, but that was the price of dog ownership. Dry-cleaning bills up the wazoo.