Your One True Love (The Bennett Family 8)

“Only half is for you, by the way. The other is for Bing.”

Upon hearing his name, the golden retriever pokes his head through the open door.

“Bing, stay inside,” Linda commands. “You’re the best friend ever.”

Well, not so much. I feel like I’ve sort of abandoned Linda lately.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join our girls’ night in? At least for a bit?”

“Nah. I’m just gonna curl up in bed and sleep. Working on a Saturday sucks. How do you still have so much energy? You’ve been helping your dad all day and look at you. You’re practically radiant. You changed your skin toner? Or is it all the sexy time you’re getting lately?”

I tap my chin, pretending I’m thinking hard. “The vote goes unabashedly to sexy time.”

Even though I am getting none tonight because Daniel is out of town, running the bachelorette event for Beatrix. But I’m looking forward to the estrogen-filled evening and catching up with Summer and Pippa. We didn’t get to talk too much on Halloween, so I’m expecting this to last until late in the night.

“Heard from Daniel today?”

“Nah, he’s busy. He’ll call if he has time.”

/> Linda runs a hand through her hair, messing up her lovely curls. “Girl, if my man would spend the night with an ex, especially one who looks like that Beatrix chick, I’d be biting my nails, texting him every fifteen minutes.”

I sigh, not at all willing to open this can of worms with her. “She’s getting married—”

“How about the friends attending the party? I bet they’re single, and just as hot. Hot people are always surrounded by hot people.”

Damn! I hadn’t even given one thought to the other women there. Palms suddenly a little sweaty, I shift my weight from one leg to the other.

“For the love of all that is holy, Linda! You’ve got to stop being so pessimistic.”

She shrugs. “Maybe you’re too trusting. You’ve been back together what, a month? Men will be men, just saying. You flaunt so much perfection and beauty in their noses, they’ll fall for it.”

Isn’t she a ray of sunshine? To her defense, she does have chronic bad luck in the dating department. But maybe her expectation that all men are assholes actually attracts assholes.

As I move around my kitchen some ten minutes later, checking on the quiche, my insecurities kick in. Maybe I shouldn’t eat the quiche, but opt for a low-fat, tasteless alternative instead. And the wine is a bad idea. Alcohol has so many calories....

I wonder what models eat to stay so thin, to maintain that flawless beauty. Bet quiche isn’t on their approved meals list. Damn it, this is all Linda’s pessimism getting to me. I swear pessimism should be on the list of infectious diseases. It spreads like wildfire, sticks like a pest.

My heart grows a little heavy. Should I be more cautious? Is it too soon to be this trusting? Jesus, I’ll drive myself crazy if I keep on like this. As if on cue, I receive a text from Daniel.

Daniel: The girls started with the cocktails at lunch. Half can’t walk in a straight line already. Feel like a babysitter. Hope your day is better.

I laugh nervously, my heart growing heavier still. Damn it, I’ve got to stop this. Before I know it, I’ll be fearing an apocalypse coming.

Caroline: Pippa and Summer will be here soon. I suspect in a few hours we’ll be needing a sitter too. Have fun!

By the time my doorbell rings, I’ve managed to push some of my worries to the back of my mind. A little quiche and a lot of wine should help push them out of my mind.

“Oooh, you didn’t have to bring anything,” I say, welcoming them inside. The Bennett sisters each carry a bag.

“This is the first proper girls’ evening in a long time,” Pippa says. “I’m not cutting corners. When you said quiche, I thought, you know what goes with so much fat? More fat. So I bought ice cream.”

Summer nods, holds up her bag. “I was in the mood for chips. But I also brought avocado and tomatoes to make guacamole. That should balance it out, right?”

I laugh. “Not really, but girls’ night isn’t for balance. It’s for fun.”

“That’s our girl.” Pippa shoves the ice cream in my freezer as I take the quiche out of the oven. The crème fraiche is the perfect shade of cream, and the crust is dark brown.

“Besides, isn’t it officially the cold season? The body needs more fat,” Pippa muses. Well, mid-November doesn’t quite qualify as the cold season, but I can see her point.