Every Little Thing (Hart's Boardwalk 2)

We roared with laughter at his answer while Cooper curled a hand around his nephew’s neck and pulled him toward him so he could kiss the top of his head.

“We’ve got a diplomat in our midst.” Ira grinned at Joey.

Smart as a whip, it wasn’t a surprise to us that Joey understood the word. “Maybe I’d make a good politician.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Iris groaned. “There are no good politicians.”

“Iris,” I admonished, “we have a good one sitting in our mayor’s office.”

She nodded her head, accepting that. “Okay. There are very few good politicians.”

“I could be a good one,” Joey insisted.

“With diplomacy like that, I’m sure of it.” Cat looked around the table. “I don’t know where he gets that from. It certainly isn’t from me.”

“And he hasn’t learned it from me,” I said.

Dahlia snorted. “That’s a given, sweetie.”

I kicked her playfully under the table. “Watch it, brat.”

“So, any word from Tom?” Cooper said abruptly.

Silence fell over the table.

Then Jessica let out a chuckle. “Apparently, Joey doesn’t get it from his Uncle Cooper, either.”

We laughed while Cooper threw me a look of apology.

“It’s fine.” I shrugged. “Really. Tom emailed me. He’s staying in Philly with family. He uh . . . well he quit his job in Dover and has decided to try to move on elsewhere.”

“How do you feel about that?” Cat said. “I mean, you guys were together a long time.”

“I’m okay with it. I don’t want him to be unhappy. I’m kind of glad that we’re starting over fresh away from one another.”

“So you haven’t told him about the break-in?” Emery asked.

“No. There’s no point. I . . . Maybe in a while we’ll be able to do the friend thing but I want time apart for now.”

“God, you’ve had a terrible few weeks,” Iris stated the obvious. “Things can only get better, Bailey.”

Wanting a subject change I thought of someone else I hadn’t seen in a while. “How’s Ivy?” I asked after Iris and Ira’s daughter. Ivy had been my best friend growing up, but she’d had aspirations of becoming a screenwriter. She’d gotten into UCLA’s school of film and television, worked her way up from intern on productions to assistant manager, until she started to make it with her screenwriting. That’s how she met her fiancé, big-time director Oliver Frost. Up until they met, Ivy had kept in touch with me, and had visited Hartwell every summer. I hadn’t seen her in three years. I hadn’t heard from her in a year.

Ira scowled. “Who knows?”

“Ira,” Iris reprimanded him for his angry tone.

I was concerned. “What’s going on? Is Ivy okay?”

The table quieted as we waited for Iris to answer.

“We don’t know. Every time we call her to check in she gets off the phone as quickly as possible, giving us excuses about how busy she is.”

“Maybe she is,” Emery said.

“No.” Ira shook his head. “Ivy has always been busy but she never let that Hollywood stuff go to her head. She’s always had time for her mother and me. Something isn’t right.”

“Why don’t you go out and see her?” Cooper suggested.