A Brand New Ending (Page 23)

She tried to pretend his close presence wasn’t bothering her. “That’s not a good idea. It’s the type of action that got you in trouble in the first place!”

His lower lip quirked. “Yeah, but now I know exactly how to drive it. Now I know how to pay for it.” His breath whispered against her lips, and her body shuddered with want. “I learned my lessons. It’s not about want or greed or impulsiveness.” She stared in total fascination, transfixed by those simmering green eyes. “It’s about care. Love. Patience. This time, I can get it right.”

The ground tilted under her feet. Helplessly caught in a spell, her body craved closer contact, ached for his touch—just one time. She moved an inch closer, her arms lifting to grip his biceps for balance. He muttered something under his breath, then lowered his head and—

“We’re here!” a voice shouted from the other room. “We’re early, but we figured we’d come help you. No arguments this time!”

Kyle stepped back. Ophelia’s arms fell to her sides.

“Are you in the kitchen?” Mia called out again. “I brought some cream puffs from the Market so you don’t have to make dessert and—oh, Kyle. Hi! I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you already have help.” Mia swung her gaze back and forth, as if sensing the tension in the room.

Kyle had retreated. He didn’t fully turn to face her, just called out a hello from behind the counter.

Ophelia suspected why.

Pasting on a smile, she gave Mia a hug. “You didn’t have to bring dessert—I was going to bake that apple crumble you like.”

“And you have a weakness for cream puffs, and I wanted to bring something you love today. Kyle, were you recruited to help, or did you volunteer?”

“Volunteered all the way. A real man knows his way around a kitchen. Too bad you got stuck with Ethan.”

“I do other things that are more fun,” Ethan shot back from behind Mia. “You probably just peeled potatoes anyway—or did you actually prepare something?”

Kyle grunted. “Wait till you see my meat. I’ll hear your apology then.”

“Your meat never impressed me, dude.”

Mia burst into laughter. “Do you always descend into adolescence when you get together?”

“It’s Kyle’s fault. Ugh, why are you listening to Broadway crap? Alexa, play Radiohead.”

Her Echo halted the stirring ballad of “All I Ask of You” from Phantom of the Opera and began belting out loud guitars and low, whiny song lyrics. Kyle began banging his head as he finished up the potatoes, and Ethan dove into a disturbing imitation of Guitar Hero moves.

Mia gave a long-suffering sigh. “I’ll set the table while you finish up. Harper’s on her way.”

“We’re starving,” Ethan yelled above the music. “Harper better get here fast—we had no time for lunch driving back from Manhattan. I hope you have a ton of cheese.”

Ophelia pressed her lips together and met Kyle’s glance across the room.

Then they both burst into laughter.

In under an hour, they were seated at the carved pine table, passing around steaming platters, bread baskets, and wine. Mia forked up a piece of buttery quiche and let out an appreciative moan. “Superb,” she announced.

Kyle gave a snort. “Still not going to beat my meat and potatoes. I’ll take a poll of everyone’s favorite dish after dinner to see who wins.”

Ophelia shook her head. “Just as competitive as ever. Do you still throw a tantrum when you lose?”

Ethan laughed. “She’s got you there, man. You didn’t talk to me for three days after I kicked your ass in that 3K race.”

“And you accused me of hiding tiles when I won our Scrabble tournament,” she pointed out. “Mom used to say—”

“‘Take a breath and take it outside if you’re gonna be a sore loser,’” Harper cut in, grinning. “Remember when Kyle insisted I screwed up the envelope in Clue when he announced Colonel Mustard did it, but he was wrong and got eliminated?”

Kyle groaned. “Really? My first family dinner back in a decade and you’re giving me shit over some dumb games?”

“Got a lot to make up for,” Ethan said, sliding a piece of pork onto his plate. “Do you pout when your characters don’t do what you want?”

Kyle gave him the middle finger, and they all laughed.

“How’s the writing going?” Mia asked.

“It was slow at first, but I’m starting to break through. It takes me a while to really get into the guts of the story, then it’s easier to tweak and revise.”

“What is it about?” Harper asked.

The words popped out of Ophelia’s mouth automatically. “Kyle never shares the details of the story until the first draft is done.”

“How come?” Mia asked.

“This may sound weird, but if I talk it out too much, the story loses its mystery and I stop wanting to write it. Made that mistake with a few ideas that died on the vine. My muse probably strangled them to death—she’s a demanding mistress. Doesn’t like me to tip our hand too soon.”

“Remember when you told me that amazing conspiracy plot where the best friend’s lover—”

“Was the killer?” Kyle finished. “Holy crap, that would’ve won me an Academy Award. But I told Ophelia the whole thing and then, no matter how hard I tried to write it, nothing came. I worked on that thing for six months and couldn’t dredge up a decent scene.”

Mia leaned forward in obvious curiosity. “So you’ve been writing since you were very young?”

“Yeah, sometimes I feel like I was born with a pen in my hand. Been writing as long as I could remember.”

“Figured he’d make it big,” Ethan said, pride carved on his face. “He won a national writing award in high school, and always had his sights on the movies. Mr. Fancy Pants.”

“Fancy, huh? I remember you showing up for some of those parties dressed in your sparkling duds, too. You were quite the beefcake in Tinseltown.”

“You did not just call me a beefcake.”

Mia grinned. “Oh yes, he did. You don’t happen to have any pics of Ethan in his Hollywood finery, do you, Kyle?”

Ethan shot him a warning glare. “No, he does not.”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” He whipped out his phone, scrolled through a few screens, then passed it around the table, ignoring Ethan’s murderous glance.

Mia clapped a hand over her mouth. “Are you wearing a white tux, babe?” she murmured. “You look so . . . Redford.”

Harper hooted with laughter. “He looks like he’s going to prom!”

Ethan muttered a curse and ripped open a biscuit with leashed savagery. “Oh, you just wait, Kimpton. I got some stuff to show on you—and all bets are off.”

“Now who’s being a sore loser?”

Mia gave the phone back and stroked his shoulder, soothing her beast. “I think you looked hot.”

“Really?”

“I’ll show you later how much,” she whispered, causing a chorus of groans around the table.

Ethan grinned and relaxed back in his chair, shooting Kyle a sympathetic look.

“Can you at least tell us the genre?” Harper asked. “’Cause I love the twisty stuff you write, plus the car crashes. They’re spectacular.”