Page 28 of Third Time's the Charm

I made a noise and shrugged with frustration, pulling off the most David Rose thing I’d done yet.

“Who eats chocolate when you can have Key limein the Keys?” She shook her head. “I mean, I’m sure we’ll be fine with chocolate. Just disappointed.”

I huffed and remembered Conchita shaking her head right after Jack said he’d be seeing me real soon. I went thermonuclear. “That rat bastard!”

“What?” Paris shrank away from me.

“Jackass!”

She backed away more. “Huh?”

“Jack did this!” I waved at the box.

Paris lowered her voice and spoke in soothing tones. “How could he have done this, honey?”

“Don’t mom-voice me! He was there when I picked up the box. He switched them!”

“That seems extreme, even for him.” She started arranging the coffee mugs and avoiding my eyes.

“Oh no. I taught him well. Too well.” Then I slammed the box lid closed and started for the door. “I’ll be back!”

“Where are you going?” Ryker called from the table, his cocking to the side as he tried to track my movements.

“Wrong dessert! Give me ten minutes!”

Then I was out in the evening darkness. Jesus, I hated the shorter days. Luckily everything was lit with Christmas lights. Instead of walking, I took the golf cart. It would shave five minutes off the walk and I’d get there with all my frustration intact. I just had to be calm enough to drive carefully and not fling the Cassidy family dessert across the cart path.

I avoided one group of carolers and went around another looking at lights, and came to stop in front of the house.

Deep breaths, Berlin. You’re only mad at Jack.

Then I knocked loudly on the door.

Chapter 8

My pet manatee

Jack

Iwasn’t sure if I was relieved or upset that Antonio was Pop’s complete opposite. Dad was tall and dorky and so very white. The whitest white dude you’ll ever meet. He was so strait-laced people thought he didn’t have a sense of humor, but he had one of those quiet super dry senses of humor that tended to hit you like a truck out of the blue. One minute you were in a serious conversation. The next, you were in tears, laughing.

Antonio was smooth. His accent seemed to be part of his personality. He had style and loved to talk about food. All in all, I liked the man.

“You’re staring at him,” Zoe whispered in my ear.

I leaned closer to her. “I’m not staring. I’mstudying.”

“Well your ‘studying’ is reaching creepy levels.”

Okay fine. I guess it was time to back off. “The roast is delicious, Ma.” I held up my mojito in toast of yet another fine meal.

“Yes,” Antonio agreed, holding up his own glass. “This pork is like butter on the tongue. A true gift.”

Mom blushed.Blushed!“It’s more tradition than gift. Really.”

Oy. I was so over Ma always deflecting comments.

“I genuinely wish you’d stop being so modest,” Antonio said.

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