That observation earned her an odd smile. “I can’t take all the credit. Raising Key was a group effort.” She slid one glass toward Izzy and held her own aloft. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.” Izzy touched her glass to Bridget’s, drank, then said, “Thanks for inviting me tonight.”
“It’s the least I could do. For every file you organize, that’s one I’ll never have to deal with.” She clinked Izzy’s glass again and drank. “But honestly, I’m glad we’re able to spend some time together. You’re important to Trace, which makes you important to me.”
Heavy guilt draped her, as prickly and stifling as a burlap blanket. “I—”
“Ri-rah!” Key jumped up and darted out of the kitchen.
“Oop. Hold that thought. Let me see if Lilah needs help. Be right back.”
Alone with her troubled conscience, Izzy took a gulp of wine. Soon she heard the door close, and the commotion of Key loudly greeting his best girl. Lilah’s muted, melodic responses brought a smile to her lips. Such a contrast. Then they were back, Key leading the way, Bridget and Lilah both carrying to-go bags from the Goose.
More contrasts, there. Bridget’s dramatic beauty—her model-perfect body in unrelenting black, a raven’s wing of spikey bangs over twilight-blue eyes, and a light-the-world smile—next to the serene loveliness of coltish Lilah in slim jeans and a chunky ivory sweater, with her long, sun-kissed brown waves, moss-green eyes, and traces of her mother’s Native ancestry in the slant of her cheekbones and generosity of her lips.
“Hi, Izzy,” she said, and placed her bag on the counter. “So nice to see you.”
“Good to see you, too. And thanks for bringing dinner.”
“Thank you for paying for it. Ford told me you’d instructed him to charge it to your credit card.”
“It was the least I could do. Bridget supplied the venue, and you volunteered to play GrubHub. I figured you ladies would appreciate me covering dinner more than you’d appreciate me attempting to provide the entertainment for the evening. My karaoke game is not strong.”
“Damn,” Bridget joked. “Now she’s off the hook for the singing and dancing portion of the evening.”
“Another time,” Lilah teased, and took a clamshell box from her bag. She gave it to Izzy while Bridget filled glasses of water from the fridge. “One Skinny Izzy, just how you like it. Ford officially added it to the board.”
More guilt. “Thanks. And thanks,” she went on when Bridget placed a glass of water by her glass of wine.
“One double ultimate burger…”
“Gimme.” Bridget said, and slung herself onto a barstool to Izzy’s right. Lilah handed the box over.
“And one more Skinny Izzy.” Lilah pulled the last box from her bag.
With her burger halfway to her lips, Bridget stopped and looked over at her friend, eyes wide. “Why?”
That would have been Izzy’s question, too. She opened her own box and looked down at her plain, bun-less patty. Ford, or someone else at the Goose, had dabbed a Dijon mustard happy face on the thing, but even so, were it not for her painful past experience with the perils of a high-fat, high-carb diet, she wouldn’t necessarily choose to eat this way.
Lilah raised one narrow shoulder and let it drop. “My stomach has been touchy lately. I decided to give it a little break.”
Around a gigantic bite of her burger, Bridget said, “I feel sorry for you, girl. At least Izzy can have wine.”
Lilah’s lips curved just enough for her dimples to flirt with her cheeks. She dug into the second bag and produced another to-go box. “I did say it was a little break.” She opened the box to reveal a large order of golden, thick-cut fries. “My deal with myself was if I had the reasonable dinner, I could have a third of these.” She pushed them to the middle of the island, in front of Izzy.
“Hot damn.” Bridget transferred a handful to the lid section of her to-go box. “I like the way you think.”
“Please, have some,” Lilah said to Izzy.
“Seriously. Get ’em while they’re hot,” Bridget urged. “You haven’t tasted fries ’til you’ve tasted Ford’s. I swear, I don’t know what that man does to a potato, but if he’s half as skilled in the bedroom as he is in the kitchen, I’m having his babies.”
Lilah had to press a hand to her face to keep from spurting the mouthful of water she’d just drank. Izzy laughed, but shook her head. “I really shouldn’t.” God, they smelled good. Salty, peppery, and something else. Vinegar? Her mouth watered. In defense, she took a swallow of her wine.
“They’re orgasmic,” Bridget insisted. “Come on. Live a little. When’s the last time you had a French fry?”
“Um…I’m not sure. Even longer than the last time I had an orgasm.”
Lilah murmured, “Oh, no,” but Bridget burst out laughing. Long, unbridled laughter. She was wiping tears from her cheeks before she got herself under control. “Woo, God. I’m so sorry. I’ll let Trace know he has some work to do. Someone ought to. Where’s my phone? I’ll text him now.”
Dammit!
Lilah said, “Bridget,” in a stern tone that could have come straight from her mother.
“I meant, before Trace, of course.” Dammit all to hell. “Since Trace I have them all the time.” She drank again, shocked to realize she’d just downed the last of her wine. “All the time. So many orgasms, I’ve lost count.”
Bridget nodded, but continued to battle laughter. “Well, that’s a relief.” She refilled Izzy’s glass.
“You know what? I believe I will try a French fry after all.” She took a small one from the trove and bit into it. Chewed. “Oh.” Eyes closed, she savored the second half. “That is so good.”
Always helpful, Lilah transferred a generous portion to her to-go box. “They are good. My mother always says to indulge constantly takes the special and makes it ordinary, but a small treat, on occasion, helps us remember to enjoy our lives.”
Izzy ate another fry and sighed. “Your mother is a wise woman.”
Bridget held up her wineglass. “To Rose’s wisdom, and Ford’s fries.”
Izzy raised her glass, Lilah her water, and they toasted. Then Lilah said, “Ford included dessert with his compliments.”
Bridget froze. “Fuck me. Not the brownie.”
Lilah nodded. “Yes.”
“You tell Ford Langley, the next time you see him, that Bridget Shanahan is definitely having his babies.”