Page 79 of Whiteout

She ignored him, asking his mother instead, “Who’s Miranda?”

“His fiancée, darling. They’ve been engaged for years.”

Inwardly, Ian chuckled.

Wrinkling her nose at him, Breanna looked at Derek like he was the equivalent of pond scum.

“Not anymore. We, uh, ended our engagement.”

I call bullshit.

“Oh, no. I’m so sorry to hear that, dear.” Shaking her head, his mother patted her nephew’s hand. She was quite the actress when it was called for.

“It was for the best.” Derek placed his hand on top of hers, effectively putting an end to her patting, and returned his gaze to Breanna. “Besides, I’ve discovered my interests lie elsewhere.”

For fuck’s sake.

“And what might those be, dear?” Not that Pamela gave him a moment to answer. “A new hobby is just the thing after a break-up. An ex of a friend of mine took up racquetball when they separated—or was it squash? Neither here nor there, I suppose. The point is to find an activity that invigorates the body as well as the mind.”

“Exactly my thought.” He smirked.

“Racquetball?”

“An invigorating activity.” Derek swept his tongue across his lip and winked.

Ted shoveled a forkful of dessert into his mouth. “This is damn good, Mrs. Keeler.”

“So good,” Breanna agreed. “Reminds me of those turtle candies, and they’re my favorite. I think I’ll have another piece.”

Derek opened his mouth to speak, no doubt to chastise her for wanting seconds, but before he could utter a word, Ian cut her a generous slice of the pecan tart.

“I’d be more than happy to give you the recipe, honey,” Francie offered. “It’s very simple to make.”

“Miss Dalton doesn’t cook,” Derek scoffed.

“No? She made waffles for me just the other day.” Taking Breanna’s hand in his, Ian grinned. “Isn’t that right, Auntie?”

“From scratch, too,” she said, nodding. “Best darn waffles I’ve ever had.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Ian whispered into Breanna’s ear, and he stood, pulling her up from the sofa with him. “Excuse us, I’m going to show Miss Dalton how to shoot some pool.”

“Billiards,” Derek spat.

He stood at the cue rack, watching her look out through the glass. Moonlight reflected off snow-covered peaks, painting the night sky a deep winter blue. She rubbed her arms as if she were cold, so he wrapped her up in his.

“Are you going to teach me how to play billiards or not?”

Ian could hear the smile in her voice. “Pick a stick, baby. I’ll rack.”

Breanna seemed to weigh her decision carefully. Her lips pursed, index finger rubbing her cheek, she visually sized up one cue over another, before getting the feel of her chosen stick in her hands.

“Have you ever played before?”

“Once or twice.” She smirked.

“Ladies first, then.” Bowing to her, his outstretched hand swept toward the table. “You break.”

“All right.”

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