“Not talking about what?”

“Sex!”

“Ryan Gabriel Donovan, you are twenty-seven years old. If you can’t tell me you’re seeing someone and it’s serious enough to sleep with her, then when can you?”

“I am convinced that you and dad had sex exactly five times and did it with your eyes closed via telepathy, Mom. I’m not talking about this with you.” I’m forced to say that last sentence through her laughter.

“I’d like to meet my grandkids, you know,” she finally says. “You’re my baby. We’ll never be spry with yours if you don’t start having them soon.”

I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing.

“Is it serious? With this Carrie?”

“What? No. We’re friends. Nothing more than friends, Mom. I’m just helping her out here by being her date for the wedding.” As I finish explaining, I hear a shuffling sound behind me and turn to find Carrie standing there, holding a plate with donuts on it, wearing a grimace she quickly changes to a bright smile.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” she gushes, bending down to place the plate next to me. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t. It’s okay. I’m just talking to — ”

Too late. Carrie gives me a huge smile and waves me off. “It’s fine! I have a million things to do to help out. Go back to whoever you’re talking to.” She disappears around a corner, out of sight.

I hear footsteps gain speed, then the unmistakable sound of running.

“Ryan? Dear? Who was that?”

“Oh,” I say, watching the last spot where I saw Carrie’s back. “No one. Just a friend.”

Chapter 9

CARRIE

“I think Jenny’s mother is a little drunk,” I whisper in Ryan’s ear. The casual dinner for the wedding party and any early guests is over, dessert plates and coffee cups littering the tables. This is the last chance anyone has to relax. Starting tomorrow, we go into full-throttle wedding mode.

No one’s listening to us, so we can talk the way we always do. Normal. Relaxed.

Like he said to that person on the phone earlier, we’re nothing more than friends.

Right? Right.

“What was your first clue?” he whispers back. “Was it when she stood on her chair and sang “I Will Always Love You”?”

“Actually, I think it was when she sat on your lap and showed you Jenny’s first grade picture.” I’m giggling helplessly. “She is going to have a wicked headache tomorrow morning.”

“Aiden’s mom isn’t too far behind. I just saw her leaving with an entire platter of chocolate tarts.”

“We should follow her. This can’t be good.”

“It’ll be fun to watch her try to press the elevator buttons, though.”

I gather my bag and my wrap and we hurry to the lobby. Sure enough, there’s Aiden’s mom, Annette, standing in front of the elevator with a huge tray in both hands, looking helplessly at the button on the wall. Her cheeks are very pink and she has a zinnia from the centerpiece in her hair. She looks like a tipsy elf.

“Can I give you a hand with that, Annette?” Ryan takes the tray from her as I press the button. “It looks heavy.”

“Oh, thank you so much!” She smiles up at him crookedly. “Sometimes I get hungry in the night. You should take a few, you never know when you’re going to need a little snack at four a.m.”

“That’s so true. Take a few, Carrie,” Ryan says, looking at me with an expression I can’t interpret. “We might need a snack. At four a.m.”

What could he mean? We’ll be asleep at four a.m. But I take two plates from the tray.

When the doors slide open, Ryan winks at me and says, “I’ll help Annette to her room. Meet you back at ours.”

“Okay,” I answer faintly. Off they go, Ryan bearing the tray, Annette chattering away beside him.

It’s not easy to work the cardkey while juggling two dessert plates and my clutch, but I manage to get in the door without dropping anything. As I head to the desk to set everything down, my fingers start to shake. I lose my thumb-grip on one plate and — of course — it tips toward me. I should have seen this coming. Of course the tart hits my dress chocolate side first. Of course it slides all the way down before landing on the beige carpet. Of course.

For a long minute, I stare down at the mess on me and the floor. Then I get a towel from the bathroom and start scooping up chocolate filling and smashed pastry. The inn will probably charge me for new carpet.

Perfect.

At least my dress is dark brown silk - chocolate brown, as a matter of fact.

See? Things can always be worse. Almost always.

The door lock clicks and Ryan comes in. He registers me on my knees, scraping at the mess, mutters “Damn,” and goes straight for another towel.

Kneeling down beside me gingerly, he studies the situation. Then, without saying a word, he reaches over and dips two fingers into the whipped cream on my skirt. He licks one finger experimentally and smiles. He holds the other to my lips.

Well, what would you do? Refuse? I open my mouth and take his finger in gently, sucking the delicious sweet cream from his skin.

And at that intense and unpredictable moment, a piece of heavy furniture falls over in the next room, shaking the floor. We both jump a mile.

“Oh my God, what was that? That’s Jamey’s room!”

“Jamey’s room? He’s next door to us?”

Just then, a man’s deep moan comes through the wall.

“He’s hurt! What should we do? I think you should go check.” I imagine Jamey trapped under the armoire, bleeding to death internally, while I am wantonly licking cream from Ryan’s body not twelve feet away. I can see the front page of the Boston Herald now: “Guy Kicks While Girl Licks” ... “She Was Coming While Her Ex Was Going”...

Another moan follows, this one louder and longer. It goes up oddly at the end.

Ryan and I look at each other.

“Yes! Kevin! Give it to me! Harder!” The voice is muffled, but the words are clear. There’s a smaller crash, like a lamp hitting the floor.

Ryan’s mouth twitches on one side as he tries not to laugh. “Are you sure you want me to go knock on the door?”