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but the chef is fabulous.”
    Max pressed his lips together in a grim line.
Clearly, he was not buying what Monica was selling.
    Emma tried not to fidget. The nape of her
neck felt damp; blow-drying her thick hair usually took forever,
and she hadn’t had forever that evening. She’d hoped her walk down
the hill in the brisk spring air would have finished what the
blow-dryer had begun, but apparently it hadn’t.
    Or maybe the chill at the nape of her neck
was caused not by her shower but by dread. This time tomorrow, she
might be homeless.
    “Mr. Tarkoff,” she began.
    “Tarloff,” he corrected her as Monica kicked
her under the table.
    “I’m sorry. I mean, call me Emma and I’ll
call you Max. Would that be okay?”
    “Emma, let’s wait until our drinks get here,”
Monica said pointedly.
    “I’ll let you do all the talking,” Emma
promised, then turned back to Max. “I just want to say that I’m
petrified about winding up homeless. I’ve taken really good care of
your house, and I have nowhere else to live, so I’m really up the
creek if I get kicked out. That’s all. If you two want to debate
the terms of the lease, I’ll stay out of your way.”
    Max’s gaze narrowed on Emma. Evidently, he
hadn’t expected her to be so blunt, to express her fear so
honestly. She hadn’t expected to express it so honestly, either.
But she’d hoped that if she gave voice to her panic, she’d win a
few points for candor.
    “I don’t want to make you homeless,” Max
said. Maybe he had a conscience, after all. Maybe she could guilt
him into letting her stay at the house until she found a new
residence. And some space to run her classes and Dream Portraits,
because she’d need the income to pay for the new residence.
    She started to thank him for his compassion,
but he cut her off before she could speak. “The thing is, you can’t
run a business from a private house without getting a zoning
variance.”
    “This is Brogan’s Point,” Monica reminded him
gently. “Everyone knows everyone here in town. We aren’t sticklers
for those kinds of things.”
    “What if one of Emma’s students tripped and
fell in my house? As the owner, I’d be liable.”
    “There’s nothing in the lease that says I
can’t have guests in the house,” Monica pointed out. “Let’s say I
had a guest and she tripped and fell. You’d still be liable.”
    “I’ve got insurance for that. I don’t have
insurance for a student paying to participate in a commercial
venture in my house.”
    The waitress arrived with their drinks and a
heaping bowl of mixed nuts. “Gus said to tell you if you want
something more substantial, the wings are good tonight,” the
waitress informed them.
    “Do you want wings?” Monica asked Max.
    He shook his head.
    Once the waitress departed,
Monica took over. “The lease runs through the end of June. If you
don’t sell the house July 1 st , you may as well let us stay
there month-to-month until you do sell—or at least until we can
make alternate living arrangements. No sense having the house stand
empty if you can be earning some money with it.”
    Emma experienced a surge of gratitude. She
knew Monica was saying this on her behalf. Monica already had
alternate living arrangements.
    “Money isn’t the issue,” Max argued.
    Before he could clarify what the issue was, a
man approached their table. He had a blandly handsome face topped
by light brown hair, with sideburns that crawled just a little too
far down his cheeks. He wore a cheap suit, his tie loosened. Emma
suppressed a grimace. Monica did nothing to suppress her grin.
“Jimmy! I didn’t know you were going to be here.”
    “Hey, babe!” Jimmy leaned across Emma to kiss
Monica’s cheek. “Yeah, a few of the guys decided to do a little
TGIF action after work.” He gestured toward a clot of young men,
all dressed much like Jimmy. He was a car salesman. Emma assumed
his buddies were, too.
    “It’s not Friday,” Monica pointed