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“What’s this?”
    â€œGrapes. And I think that’s Gouda.”
    She considered him a moment, then glanced at the phone. “Uh…”
    â€œI can hold that for you.”
    She moved her thumb over the screen, then handed over the phone and took the plate. “Thank you?”
    He nodded, smiled. “You’re welcome.”
    â€œIt doesn’t mean we’re friends, you know.” She picked up a grape, popping it in her mouth.
    â€œHeaven forbid.” He glanced at the phone. She’d closed out her screen, of course.
    â€œI wanted to ask you about Lyle.”
    She raised one eyebrow, popping another grape into her mouth. “Lyle? Why?”
    â€œApparently he’s an important part of your life. I think I need to meet him, especially if he’s going to be hanging around during the tour.” That was nice and casual, not ahint of annoyance in his voice that she hadn’t even once mentioned the man.
    â€œI’m not sure he’s going. Leah hasn’t decided yet.”
    What did her assistant have to do with her boyfriend’s decision to join her? “Why not?”
    â€œHe’s got school.”
    Lawyer? Doctor? He didn’t exactly know why this bothered him. “What is he studying?”
    A slow smile slid up her face, almost like a shark pulling back its teeth. “Gym and lunch are his favorite subjects, I think.” At this, she winked and finished off the last of the grapes. “I’ll make sure he stops by later. I do think it’s time you met my son.” She handed him the plate and took back her phone, leaving him standing there with a big pile of stinky cheese.
    Â 
    Oh, the look on Brody’s face had been priceless. So worth accepting his goodwill grapes.
    Even if, technically, she’d had to lie. Although she considered Lyle her son. He’d been living with her every summer and holiday since she’d found the four-year-old curled up on the park bench her freshman year of college at Columbia University where she did her undergraduate work.
    Which, of course, led to her meeting his sister, Leah. And arranging for his schooling with their mother, at least until the day the cops found her dead in Central Park.
    Now Leah had official custody.
    And Brody had looked like she’d belted him again.
    See, no one pulled a fast one on Vonya.
    â€œRonie, are you okay in there?”
    Ronie could picture Leah just outside the door, her kinky black hair wild around her face, dressed in a peasant’s shirt, tied at the neck. Leah’s appearance, head to toe, matched her personality—friendly, fun, honest. She’d turned into an exceptional assistant, and Ronie couldn’t imagine a Sunday morning without pancakes with her and Lyle.
    Ronie wiped her face, toweled off her hair. “I’ll be out in a minute. How did your interview go with Brody Wickham, aka the Boy Scout?” She wiped the mirror with a washcloth, a swipe as large as her hand that revealed her streaked, formerly made-up face. Rehearsals for her tour seemed even more grueling today, and instead of showering at the studio, she’d raced home to her own digs.
    â€œWick—that’s his nickname. He seems nice. And genuinely concerned for your safety.”
    â€œYeah, too concerned if you ask me.” She would need another layer of remover to wipe the last of the indigo blue from around her eyes, but finally, she’d begun to see hints of her real self. Unremarkable hazel-green eyes, brown hair chopped short, the color of prairie mud, now knotted in a mass from a brisk towel-rubbing. A few freckles formerly concealed with powder. And pale yet plump lips that others probably envied, but on her it looked like too much effort for too little result.
    â€œThis coming from the woman who still winces when she moves her arm.”
    Ronie lifted her left arm, letting the mirror reveal the purple-black bruise encircling the top