herself that she would put in a better day’s work with a good night’s sleep.
She powered down the laptop, then carried it over to the dressing table to set it to charge. She really was going to need that home office.
She went through her habitual bedtime routine, meticulously creaming off her makeup, studying her naked face in the mirror to see if the Time Bitch had snuck any new lines on it that day. She dabbed on her eye cream, her lip cream, her nighttime moisturizer—all of which were lined, according to point of use, on the counter. After slathering more cream on her hands, she spent a few minutes searching for gray hairs. The Time Bitch could be sneaky.
She wished she was prettier. Wished her features were more even, her hair straight and a reasonable color. She’d dyed it brown once, and that had been a disaster. So, she’d just have to live with ...
She caught herself humming, and frowned at herself in the mirror. What song was that? How strange to have it stuck in her head when she didn’t even know what it was.
Then she realized it wasn’t stuck in her head. She heard it. Soft, dreamy singing. From the boys’ room.
Wondering what in the world Roz would be doing singing to the boys at eleven at night, Stella reached for the connecting door.
When she opened it, the singing stopped. In the subtle glow of the Harry Potter night-light, she could see her sons in their beds.
“Roz?” she whispered, stepping in.
She shivered once. Why was it so cold in there? She moved, quickly and quietly to the terrace doors, checked and found them securely closed, as were the windows. And the hall door, she thought with another frown.
She could have sworn she’d heard something. Felt something. But the chill had already faded, and there was no sound in the room but her sons’ steady breathing.
She tucked up their blankets as she did every night, brushed kisses on both their heads.
And left the connecting doors open.
BY MORNING SHE’D BRUSHED IT OFF. LUKE COULDN’T find his lucky shirt, and Gavin got into a wrestling match with Parker on their before-school walk and had to change his. As a result, she barely had time for morning coffee and the muffin David pressed on her.
“Will you tell Roz I went in early? I want to have the lobby area done before we open at ten.”
“She left an hour ago.”
“An hour ago?” Stella looked at her watch. Keeping up with Roz had become Stella’s personal mission—and so far she was failing. “Does she sleep ?”
“With her, the early bird doesn’t just catch the worm, but has time to sauté it with a nice plum sauce for breakfast.”
“Excuse me, but eeuw . Gotta run.” She dashed for the doorway, then stopped. “David, everything’s going okay with the kids? You’d tell me otherwise, right?”
“Absolutely. We’re having nothing but fun. Today, after school, we’re going to practice running with scissors, then find how many things we can roughhouse with that can poke our eyes out. After that, we’ve moving on to flammables.”
“Thanks. I feel very reassured.” She bent down to give Parker a last pat. “Keep an eye on this guy,” she told him.
LOGAN KITRIDGE WAS PRESSED FOR TIME. RAIN HAD delayed his personal project to the point where he was going to have to postpone some of the fine points—again—to meet professional commitments.
He didn’t mind so much. He considered landscaping a perpetual work in progress. It was never finished. It should never be finished. And when you worked with Nature, Nature was the boss. She was fickle and tricky, and endlessly fascinating.
A man had to be continually on his toes, be ready to flex, be willing to compromise and swing with her moods. Planning in absolutes was an exercise in frustration, and to his mind there were enough other things to be frustrated about.
Since Nature had deigned to give him a good, clear day, he was taking it to deal with his personal project. It meant he had to work
She powered down the laptop, then carried it over to the dressing table to set it to charge. She really was going to need that home office.
She went through her habitual bedtime routine, meticulously creaming off her makeup, studying her naked face in the mirror to see if the Time Bitch had snuck any new lines on it that day. She dabbed on her eye cream, her lip cream, her nighttime moisturizer—all of which were lined, according to point of use, on the counter. After slathering more cream on her hands, she spent a few minutes searching for gray hairs. The Time Bitch could be sneaky.
She wished she was prettier. Wished her features were more even, her hair straight and a reasonable color. She’d dyed it brown once, and that had been a disaster. So, she’d just have to live with ...
She caught herself humming, and frowned at herself in the mirror. What song was that? How strange to have it stuck in her head when she didn’t even know what it was.
Then she realized it wasn’t stuck in her head. She heard it. Soft, dreamy singing. From the boys’ room.
Wondering what in the world Roz would be doing singing to the boys at eleven at night, Stella reached for the connecting door.
When she opened it, the singing stopped. In the subtle glow of the Harry Potter night-light, she could see her sons in their beds.
“Roz?” she whispered, stepping in.
She shivered once. Why was it so cold in there? She moved, quickly and quietly to the terrace doors, checked and found them securely closed, as were the windows. And the hall door, she thought with another frown.
She could have sworn she’d heard something. Felt something. But the chill had already faded, and there was no sound in the room but her sons’ steady breathing.
She tucked up their blankets as she did every night, brushed kisses on both their heads.
And left the connecting doors open.
BY MORNING SHE’D BRUSHED IT OFF. LUKE COULDN’T find his lucky shirt, and Gavin got into a wrestling match with Parker on their before-school walk and had to change his. As a result, she barely had time for morning coffee and the muffin David pressed on her.
“Will you tell Roz I went in early? I want to have the lobby area done before we open at ten.”
“She left an hour ago.”
“An hour ago?” Stella looked at her watch. Keeping up with Roz had become Stella’s personal mission—and so far she was failing. “Does she sleep ?”
“With her, the early bird doesn’t just catch the worm, but has time to sauté it with a nice plum sauce for breakfast.”
“Excuse me, but eeuw . Gotta run.” She dashed for the doorway, then stopped. “David, everything’s going okay with the kids? You’d tell me otherwise, right?”
“Absolutely. We’re having nothing but fun. Today, after school, we’re going to practice running with scissors, then find how many things we can roughhouse with that can poke our eyes out. After that, we’ve moving on to flammables.”
“Thanks. I feel very reassured.” She bent down to give Parker a last pat. “Keep an eye on this guy,” she told him.
LOGAN KITRIDGE WAS PRESSED FOR TIME. RAIN HAD delayed his personal project to the point where he was going to have to postpone some of the fine points—again—to meet professional commitments.
He didn’t mind so much. He considered landscaping a perpetual work in progress. It was never finished. It should never be finished. And when you worked with Nature, Nature was the boss. She was fickle and tricky, and endlessly fascinating.
A man had to be continually on his toes, be ready to flex, be willing to compromise and swing with her moods. Planning in absolutes was an exercise in frustration, and to his mind there were enough other things to be frustrated about.
Since Nature had deigned to give him a good, clear day, he was taking it to deal with his personal project. It meant he had to work
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