Page 96 of Flirting with Forever

“Well, yeah, but—Wait, how did you know he was my friend?”

“He introduced himself,” she said quickly. “He’d heard me talking about the museum and said he knew someone who worked there too. Small world, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“We had a very interesting time.”

Anastasia’s gaze moved slowly from the stapler to Cam, and Cam immediately felt a disturbing change in the force. A brisk slide show of potential sister betrayals flipped through her head. Anastasia had slept with him. Anastasia had found out about Cam’s time travel. Anastasia had caught wind of the Wednesday Afternoons horror. Anastasia was part of the Wednesday Afternoons horror. Cam’s finger flew to her lashes. “Oh?”

“He’s an interesting fellow.”

Gulp. “Really? Where, um, was this meeting?”

Anastasia’s eyes darted back to the stapler. “Can’t remember, actually. A bar downtown, I think.”

Cam tried to picture Peter ordering a drink. “Rhenish” would have earned him nothing but confused looks.

“Men seem to have a thing for you.”

Cam felt like she was being tested, though for the life of her, she had no idea what she was supposed to say. It was like one of those nightmares about the SATs. “I, uh—Pardon?”

“Men. You engender some primitive protectiveness in them.”

“Like Jacket?”

“Of course Jacket. Who did you think I meant?”

“Yes, I can see where screwing the woman who designed my engagement ring was the ultimate act of gallantry.”

“He loves you. Anyone can see it.”

Cam squirmed. It was true. Love and faithfulness occupied quite different galleries in the complicated floor plan of Jacket’s head. “I’ll admit he’s making progress.”

“C’mon, Cam. Give him a break. How much does one guy have to suffer in your world?”

A good question. But even if the answer was “a lot,” hadn’t Jacket satisfied the requirement?

“How’s the book going?”

Cam rubbed her neck. It was like watching a Federer-Nadal tennis match, trying to follow the subject line here.

“Good, actually.”

“Kinda weird you’re writing about Peter Lely, and your friend’s named Peter Lely.”

“Yeah, well, he kind of inspired it.”

“Is he an art collector?”

“Mmm. I don’t know for sure. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. I just wondered if he collected paintings or drawings or art-related letters, that sort of thing?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me. He’s a real art fan.”

Anastasia nodded, her bob swinging brusquely. “He looked different when I saw him.”

“Different?”