Page 35 of Born for Starlight

"It's not..." I started.

"Muffins," Trenda said, steering her daughter away by the shoulders. She mouthed sorry at me over Bella's head, and then, because she was Trenda, she took a long, obvious, unrepentant look at Matthew and mouthed plus-one.

They moved off toward the counter, Bella already interrogating Lettie about muffin freshness. I turned back to Matthew.

The man looked like he'd been hit by a bus.

He was still staring after Bella, coffee halfway to his mouth, frozen. For the first time since I'd met him, Matthew Grainger looked completely out of his depth.

"What," he said slowly, "was that?"

"That was Bella."

"How old is she?"

"She's twelve."

"She talked about shipping logistics." He set his coffee down without drinking any. "She used the phrase written confirmation. I've debriefed grown men with less command of detail."

"She's an Avery. Well, a Clark now, she's Simon's daughter." I bit my lip against the laugh. "You should see your face."

"There are two whites, Angelica."

"Ivory and stark. Keep up."

"How involved in this wedding are you, exactly? Because that child just delivered a status report and you had answers."

And there it was. The opening walked right up and handed itself to me. I'd like to say I was the type of woman who sometimes didn't take advantage of an opening when one was handed to me, but that would be a bald-faced lie, and now was no different.

"Funny you should ask." I leaned back and looked at him, really looked, letting him see me do it. "Zoe has five sisters and a brother walking her down the aisle, so I'm not in the wedding party. But it turns out eleven years of film sets makes a person freakishly good at running a production, so I'm coordinating the whole thing. Timeline, vendors, string quartet, both whites." I paused. "Which means I'll be working the room all day. But I find I still need a date."

He unnervingly still.

"What about Grant?"

"Grant." I waved a hand. "Grant has been released from his contract. I texted Code last night, the spreadsheet has been updated, and somewhere in this great nation, Grant is celebrating his freedom with a woman whose name you'll never hear from me. He sends his regrets and a very nice gravy boat."

"The spreadsheet?" Matthew repeated.

"Don't ask questions you're not cleared for." I smiled. "So? The wedding? You should come see the production for yourself. It will be entertaining. And something tells me you'd clean up pretty well." I let my eyes travel over him, slow, the exact way he always looked at me, and watched it land. "Wait, do you even own a suit?"

He held my gaze for a long moment. The wall behind his eyes was gone now. What was there instead made my pulse quicken.

"I own a suit," he said slowly.

"Just one?"

"I have options."

Interesting.

"Nine days. Ivory, not stark, if you're choosing a tie." I stood and gathered my bag and my sunglasses, because exits, like entrances, were all about timing. "Pick me up at four."

I was three steps toward the door when I heard the plate slide against the table. I looked back.

Matthew picked up the cinnamon roll. He turned it, unhurried, deliberate, until he found the place where I'd bitten into it. He held my eyes across the whole length of the diner.

Then he bit down. Exactly there. Precisely where I had bitten down.