The Homewreckers(140)

* * *



“Looks like it’s just you and me again, Ribsy,” Hattie said. She fed him a bite of steak from the burrito she’d picked up at her favorite Mexican restaurant on Victory Drive, and tried not to feel sorry for herself.

“Better to be alone than with the wrong guy, right?” she asked the dog, who wagged his tail in response.

She ran her hand over the granite countertop, which she’d bribed two of her painters into hauling into the house and installing earlier that afternoon. It was white with pale gray flecks and gleamed in the harsh light of the naked lightbulb overhead.

“Should have kept those brass lanterns for my own kitchen,” she groused. “But hey, now I’ve got an excuse to hunt down some more.” She picked up a tile from the box on the counter and finished the row she’d laid out. “Time for mortar mix, right, sport?”

Instead of answering, Ribsy’s ears pricked up and he dashed through the house toward the front door, barking as he ran.



* * *



As soon as she opened the door Ribsy launched himself into the visitor’s arms. Mo laughed and dropped to the floor of the porch as the dog wriggled and wagged and licked his face with a series of ecstatic yips.

Mo looked up at Hattie. “At least somebody’s glad to see me.”

She was momentarily speechless. “Mo? What are you doing here?”

“I’ve got news. And I tried calling, but as usual, got no answer. Do you even know where your phone is?”

“Oh. Damn. I guess I left it in the pocket of my work pants again after I got out of the shower,” she said.

“I did warn you that I’d be dropping in again,” Mo said. “Are you going to invite me inside?”



* * *



“Want something to eat?” she asked, gesturing toward the foil takeout container on the kitchen counter. “There’s some black beans and rice, and some chips and guac.”

“No, thanks,” he said, gazing around the room. “Looks like the cobbler’s children are finally getting some shoes.”

“Yeah,” she said, feeling suddenly shy. “I couldn’t let that tile left over from Chatham Avenue go to waste. Hey—guess what? We sold the house. Carolyn called to tell me this afternoon.”

“That’s great!” Mo said. “Did you get your asking price?”

“We came close,” Hattie said. “Close enough that I said yes. It’s a cash offer. We close on Friday.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s fast. Do they know about the body?”

“They do. Turns out the buyer is actually Holland Senior’s much-despised Yankee cousin. Carolyn says the feeling is mutual.”

Mo leaned back against the counter. He was wearing faded blue jeans and a Dodgers T-shirt that had seen better days. He needed a haircut, and there were dark circles under his eyes, but he smiled that slow, lazy grin as he let his eyes wander over her body and Hattie’s stomach did an involuntary little flip-flop.

“I’ve missed you, Hattie,” he said.

Keep it casual, she told herself. “Want something to drink? A beer or a glass of wine?”

He tilted his head.

“I was hoping you’d say you missed me too.”

She got a bottle of wine from the fridge and poured two glasses, hoping her shaking hands wouldn’t give her away. She handed him a glass and tried to gather her resolve.

“I didn’t.”

He set his glass down on the counter and pulled her to him. He put his arms around her waist and kissed her.

“Liar,” he murmured. He cradled her face between his hands, then kissed her again, parting her lips with his tongue. His kisses were warm and sweet and she realized that trying to resist Mo Lopez was futile.

“Okay, maybe I missed you a little.” His hands roamed under her shirt, and she felt herself melting into him.

“I wanted to call you as soon as I got the news today, that the house was sold.”

“But you didn’t. Why not?”

“This will never work.…”

He stopped kissing her. “Could you just listen? First off, I’ve thought a lot about this ‘don’t get your honey where you get your money’ theory. And it’s bullshit. Lots of successful couples work together in this business. Hell, you’re already working for your father-in-law, and your best friend and her mom.”

“That’s different. They’re family.”

“Not that different. Besides, we’re good together, Hattie. Admit it. We piss each other off sometimes, yeah, but that’s what happens on any creative project.”

Mo pressed his lips to her ear. He kissed her earlobe, then moved slowly down her neck, lingering when his lips were on her collarbone. “You know what makes us so good together?” He’d managed to unsnap her bra and now his thumbs grazed her nipples.

“Sexual tension. You can’t deny it. It’s always in the air when we’re together. Like those damned no-see-ums.”

His fingers worked lazy circles around her nipples and then he was kissing her again.

She struggled to find a reason to pull away, when all she wanted was to get closer.

“Your news?” she managed.