In This Town. Beth Andrews
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Great. Layne was calling. Again. She glanced at Nora.
Stuck between her sisters. The curse of being the middle child.
She clicked Ignore©on her phone and faced Nora. “Well, hello there, stranger,” Tori said, her own black skirt feeling too short, too tight compared to her sister’s orange dress, the hem of which skimmed just above Nora’s knees. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”
If Nora noted the censure in Tori’s tone, the light accusation, it didn’t show in her easy smile or blue eyes.
When had her baby sister become so adept at camouflaging her feelings? Or maybe Tori had just lost her ability to read her? Neither thought sat well.
“Good morning,” Nora said cheerfully, as if they’d last seen each other yesterday instead of two weeks ago. As if nothing was wrong.
Tori knew better.
She tossed the old grounds from the coffeepot into the garbage. “It’s a little early to be so chipper. Even for you.”
That was Nora’s thing. Being bright and sunny and optimistic. Hey, whatever got her gears grinding, but honestly, just the thought of being that freaking merry all the time gave Tori a headache.
“Did Layne get a hold of you?” Nora asked, smoothing a hand over her blond hair.
God forbid even a single strand try to escape the tight twist she insisted was professional-looking but was really an affront to stylish hairstyles everywhere.
“She wants us to meet her at the station.”
“I know, she told me. Three times.”
Waving at someone in the dining room, Nora scrunched up her nose. “She called me twice and sent four text messages. She’s nothing if not persistent.”
“Yeah, persistent. Demanding. Bossy. Annoying—my personal favorite. And for the love of God, don’t do that thing with your nose,” Tori continued, adding fresh grounds to the pot. “You look like a rabid bunny ready to tear the heads off innocent children.”
“Please, I’m adorable and you know it.”
“True. But the problem is that you know it. Layne and I shouldn’t have told you you were pretty so often when you were little. We created a monster.”
Nora waved that away. “You created a self-assured, confident, independent woman, but that’s neither here nor there,” she said, sounding like the attorney she was. “What is here and there is that we need to get going or we’ll be late. You can ride with me and Griffin.”
“I won’t be anything,” Tori said, rinsing the coffeepot before filling it with chilled, distilled water, “because I’m not going.”
Nora stared at her as if she’d suddenly declared she was going to shave off her eyebrows. “Of course you’re going.”
“Why? Because Layne wants me to? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m working and I will continue to work until my shift ends at two. I’m not about to drop what I’m doing, leave Celeste in a bind and abandon my customers and coworkers just because my older sister decrees it.”
Layne wasn’t the boss of her. A fact her older sister didn’t seem to be aware of.
Tori hated that Layne demanded she drop everything whenever the whim hit her. Tori may not be the assistant chief of police like Layne or an attorney like Nora, but she had a job, one she took seriously. One she couldn’t afford to be away from—literally. Ever since her divorce, she’d barely been able to make ends meet.
No one told her the price of freedom would be so damn high.
“I don’t think Layne would’ve asked you to leave work if she didn’t feel it was important,” Nora said, proving that, despite her angelic face, she could be as stubborn as her sisters. “So, come on.” She clapped her hands lightly, her tone high-pitched as if she was calling a hesitant puppy. If she whistled, Tori might have to hurt her. “Let’s go.”
Tori turned on the machine. “Look, don’t think you can avoid me for weeks—”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Nora said, her arms crossed, her cheeks pink.
“—and then waltz in here and make demands. I’m not going. Deal with it.”
“First of all,” Nora said, hurrying after Tori as she walked toward the other side of the restaurant, “I haven’t been avoiding you.”
Tori stepped into the large alcove separating the dining room from the kitchen. “Ever since you started sleeping with Griffin York you’ve barely been around. Does he keep you chained to the bed?”
Sharon Cameron’s booming laugh drowned out whatever Nora had been about to say. “He could chain me to the bed,” Sharon said. “I’d even bring my own restraints.”
“Not helping,” Tori called to her coworker as Sharon took several place settings back into the dining room.
Patty Tarcher, a rotund, gray-haired, sixty-year-old grandmother of ten set food-laden plates from the order window onto a tray. “I say enjoy it while you can,” Patty told Nora. “Once they hit fifty, men’s libidos drop like a rock in the ocean. Never to be seen again.” Balancing the tray with one hand, she snagged an extra set of silverware off the long table behind them and peered over the top of her glasses at the sisters. “That’s why God invented those little blue pills. Things are magic, I tell you. Pure magic.”
“Way more information than anyone ever needed to know,” Tori said.
“Thanks, Patty, but Griffin’s and my relationship isn’t based solely on sex,” Nora said, humor underlying her prim tone.
Patty frowned. “Now that’s a shame. Those are the best kind.”
Tori and Nora watched Patty leave. “Oh, my God,” Tori breathed. “I’m going to need to scrub my brain to get rid of the image of Patty and Stan putting that little blue pill to use.”
Nora’s lips twitched. “Isn’t Stan the guy who plays Santa at the annual Christmas party?”
“Ugh. Stop. Now I’m imagining him dressed as a jolly old elf.” At Nora’s laugh, Tori grinned. “I miss you, baby girl.”
For some reason, that comment made Nora look guilty. Tori’s eyes narrowed. No doubt about it, something was going on—she just had no idea what. But she was sure whatever it was, Griffin was to blame.
“I miss you, too,” Nora said, rearranging the stack of wrapped silverware. “I’ve just been busy—”
“Tori,” Celeste Vitello, the café’s owner, called from the other side of the window. “Order up.”
“Busy,” Tori repeated, placing plates onto a tray. “Right. Too busy for your family.”
Nora sighed. “You know it’s not that way between me and Griffin, right?”
“Not what way?”
“Just sex.”
That was Nora’s first problem. She should keep whatever was between her and Griffin purely physical. Keep her heart out of it. “Does it matter?” she asked, lifting the tray and walking into the dining room.
Never one to give up anything easily, Nora caught up with Tori as she set omelets in front of a twenty-something couple.
“Of course it matters,” Nora said when Tori returned the tray to the alcove. “You’re my sister.”
“And yet you continue to ignore my sage advice about Griffin.”
“Because you’re wrong about him.” Her tone gentled. “He’s a good man. I lo—”
“Oh, no. No, no, no.” Tori covered her ears. “Do not start spouting off about your great love for him. Let me keep believing it’s only