Silver Unicorn (Silver Shifters 3)

Jen sighed. “I used to stutter. When I was a kid. Until my high school English teacher told me that many stutters were tied to, ah, high emotional energy or anxiety. He helped me find a funny phrase that I could repeat in my mind, to diffuse my nervousness before I had to speak.”

Doris grinned. “Kind of like teaching kids who are afraid of public speaking to imagine their audience dressed in pink bunny suits, complete with cotton tails.”

“Exactly,” Jen said, relieved. “When I was sixteen, nothing was funnier than ‘rubber chicken.’ So, today, it sort of came blurping out.” Now both Godiva’s eyes had narrowed into twin lasers, so Jen finished quickly, “S

parring on an empty stomach will do that to me.”

The worried pucker in Godiva’s forehead smoothed a little. “Oh, if that’s all, we’ve got the solution right over there.”

Doris indicated a table a few feet away. “Godiva just bought out half of Linette’s pastries, fresh out of the oven. Come and grab ‘em while they’re hot.”

Jen followed Doris to the table, inhaling the heavenly smell of the fresh baked goods Godiva had chosen. As her fingers hovered between a cider donut and a layered apple tart, she was aware of Nikos’s voice coming through the open door.

She shot a quick glance that way, to see him talking to Joey and Mikhail. From the back, Nikos could have been any age—broad shoulders tapering to narrow hips, his glossy black hair tied back simply. Silver strands had begun to weave among the black at his temples—

Aaaaaand she was staring again.

She jerked herself around straight and chomped on her donut, aware of a silence at the table. She glanced up to find Bird and Doris looking at her with twin expressions of . . .

Jen couldn’t define those looks, but told herself sternly to get a grip.

She had made a private vow to stop stressing her friends with her grief. They had been wonderful after Robert died. Somehow a hot, home-cooked meal ended up in her kitchen every day, with Doris sitting across from her, asking Jen to try a bite, and another bite, until the plate was empty. And somehow she’d emerged from her room to find Bird quietly tidying the tiny house she’d shared with Robert. Another time or two she’d discovered Godiva fiercely fending off the vultures who called or mailed or even showed up, wanting to “help” her arrange the funeral and her affairs—if she’d just sign this little contract here.

These women had proved to be good friends, but they had their own lives. Jen was a grownup.

So act like one.

She looked up, to find her friends still watching her with expressions ranging from worry (Bird) to wariness (Godiva). She forced a smile, proud of her easy tone as she said to Doris, “I was trying to think if these cider donuts are better than the last batch we ate here, or if it’s just me being extra hungry.”

Doris flickered a weird look at Bird, but said, “Oh, they’re always good.”

They talked about pastry, then moved from that to Joey Hu’s offer to fix Korean barbeque before the next meeting of the writers’ group. Godiva brought over a fresh plate of fragrant goodies, cackling happily. “I hope by Friday I’ll have today’s vid all written out. Wow, this is going to be a good one—I can feel it.”

“All your books are good,” Bird said loyally.

“Says she who’s too tender-hearted to read any mysteries but mine,” Godiva retorted with a grin. “Never mind the compliments. Leave that for the paying customers, may they flourish and multiply. Here, I’ve got dibs on that strawberry thing. It looks tempting, and I do believe I am the Olympic champion at falling for temptation. So! What are you all going to read on Friday, hmm? Doris—in your case, what goodies are you going to try on us?”

Doris said, “I’m still working on my cookbook of ancient recipes. You guinea pigs will be getting traditional moon cakes, which the Chinese have been making for Mid-Autumn Festival for ages. Joey brought the recipe over from his Chinese grandmother.”

“Sounds delicious,” Bird said. “Now that I’ve got another grandkid on the way, I want to try different types of stories for children, in hopes one might be just what the grandkids will like. I’ve begun one about dolls coming alive in their dollhouse at night—which was something I was convinced mine did while I was asleep, when I was little.”

Everyone turned to Jen.

She took her time finishing off her donut as she thought. Sometimes . . . you either explained everything, or said nothing. And these good friends had already done their time listening.

So she offered them her social smile. “You know I’ve been playing around with fantasy lately. Always liked it when I was a kid. But so far nothing has clicked. I’ll just keep trying.”

“Okay,” Godiva said. “I know very, very well that if a project is fighting you, there isn’t much you can do except back-burner it. Let me just say I’ve really liked all the beginnings you’ve written. Really compelling, and I’m not much one for fantasy.”

Bird whispered, “I love them all, too.”

Doris chimed in, “And I.”

“Thanks for the support, everybody,” Jen said with heartfelt sincerity. “Whoa. Look at the time. I’ve got my women’s self-defense class starting in twenty minutes. I’d better fly.”

Godiva said, “You’re teaching karate? I didn’t know that.”

Rubber chicken. Time for another social smile.