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  With a groan, she got up from the bed. Every joint and muscle was stiff, probably because she’d tensed up during her nightmare, and her scars ached.

  She limped into the bathroom and splashed cold water onto her face. In the mirror above the sink, she watched the color slowly return to her face. She smiled at herself. That’s it. A lot better now.

  She went back to the bedroom for a sip of water, but the glass on her nightstand was empty. Without turning on the hallway light so she wouldn’t wake Claire, she tiptoed through the hall toward the kitchen to get herself some water.

  Claire was tossing and turning. An hour ago, she had climbed out of the too-big bed and dragged her pillow and covers to the couch, where she had ended up sleeping most nights since Abby had moved out. She had dozed a little, but real sleep eluded her.

  Too many things kept going through her mind.

  To her surprise, it wasn’t images of Abby telling her it was over that played through her mind’s eye. Instead, what had kept her awake was her mind conjuring up possible scenarios of what might happen when she took Lana to Renata’s party and the meeting with the acquisitions editor.

  A sound from the hall swept away the last remainder of sleepiness.

  Was that a floorboard creaking?

  Claire tensed, even though she reminded herself that she had a security system.

  The sound of the fridge being opened and closed drifted over, and Claire sank back against her pillow. A burglar would check out the expensive art works on the walls, not the contents of her fridge. It had to be Lana.

  The thought brought back some of her tension as she imagined Lana messing up her kitchen again.

  Hey, you wanted to be more tolerant about that, remember?

  A glance at the illuminated hands of her wristwatch revealed that it was five o’clock anyway, so she might as well get up. She carried her pillow and covers back into the bedroom so Lana wouldn’t realize where she’d slept, then padded toward the kitchen.

  “Good morning,” she said from the doorway.

  Lana dropped the plastic bottle she’d been holding and whirled around. Water splashed all over the kitchen floor as the open bottle rolled around. “Jesus! You scared the crap out of me!” She pressed one hand to her heaving chest.

  Claire lifted both hands. “Sorry. I…” She squinted at Lana, who looked pale and rattled. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. You just startled me.” Lana bent, picked up the bottle, and started to mop up the water with the rag that had been hanging over the faucet.

  Her therapist instincts propelled Claire closer. Was it just her imagination, or were Lana’s hands trembling? She walked over, careful not to step into any of the puddles, knelt next to Lana, and stopped her with a touch to her knee.

  Only when Lana flinched did she realize her leg was bare; she was wearing some kind of sleep shorts.

  Claire snatched her hand away. Wow. What an intense reaction from Lana. It wasn’t as if she was trying to feel her up or something. Without touching her again, she pointed at the rag in Lana’s hands. “Want me to do that?”

  Lana paused in her attempts to mop up the spilled water and stared at her. “You really are a control freak, aren’t you?”

  “What? No! It’s not about me wanting to take over. All I wanted was…” Claire stopped herself. She didn’t need this, especially not before she’d had her first cup of coffee. “You know what? Forget it.” She jumped to her feet and strode to the door.

  “Claire, wait!” Lana’s voice stopped her. “I… I’m sorry. I just… I didn’t sleep very well. Of course, that’s not an excuse for being an ass.”

  Her blatant honesty made Claire’s annoyance melt away. She turned back around. “It’s okay. I… I didn’t sleep very well either.” Normally, she wasn’t one to share such things, but now it felt right to bare that little bit of herself too.

  “How about we make a deal?” Lana said. “You mop up the floor while I make us some pancakes.”

  Claire hesitated, about to point out that she wasn’t a breakfast person and just wanted coffee and some peace and quiet in the morning.

  But now that familiar twinkle was back in Lana’s eyes. “Come on,” Lana said. “It’s before six, so a few carbs won’t kill you.”

  “All right. I’ll have one.” Claire held up her index finger.

  “That’s what you think.” Lana grinned. “Once you’ve tasted my world-famous pancakes, you won’t be able to stop yourself from taking a second and then a third and…”

  Claire gave her a look.

  “Okay, okay. One pancake it is.” She went to the fridge for some ingredients while Claire mopped up the rest of the floor.

  Then she sat at the kitchen island and watched Lana make pancakes.

  Thankfully, Lana didn’t seem to feel the urge to make conversation while she broke eggs in a one-handed flourish. She moved with unexpected grace as she whisked the ingredients together.

  It occurred to Claire that she’d never watched Abby cook, not even once in their seven-year relationship. Aside from occasionally dining out, they hadn’t shared many meals.

  Lana ladled batter into a hot pan. Once bubbles started to form, she turned the pancake with a quick flip of her wrist.

  Just when Claire was beginning to admire her cooking skills, the pancake flopped back into the pan, sending spatters of oil and batter across the backsplash and the stove.

  Lana continued without seeming to notice.

  Ignore it. It’s just a little batter. Claire bit her tongue and got up to make coffee.

  A few minutes later, both the coffee and the pancakes were ready. Lana placed a stack of perfectly round, golden-brown pancakes on the island in front of her. They smelled heavenly, making Claire’s mouth water.

  Lana slid one pancake onto Claire’s plate before climbing onto the stool next to her. “Go on, try it.”

  Under Lana’s expectant gaze, Claire cut off a bit of pancake with the side of her fork, blew on it, and put the bite into her mouth.

  The fluffy piece of pancake seemed to melt on her tongue. The aroma of chocolate and peanut butter exploded across her taste buds. Forgetting her manners and the state of her kitchen, she moaned around a mouthful of pancake. The question she had asked Lana last week was definitely answered: Lana was a fantastic cook.

  “Oh my God,” she said once she had swallowed. “What did you put in there?”

  “Pieces of peanut butter cups.” Lana grinned proudly.

  Claire eyed the pancake on her plate. “They probably have a thousand calories each.”

  “Probably.” Unrepentantly, Lana took a big bite of pancake.

  Well, there was no use spoiling food that was already on her plate, so Claire ate the rest of her pancake…and then started eyeing the stack between her and Lana. Oh no. Forget it. One of them is more than enough.

  Instead of staring at the calorie bombs within easy reach, she forced herself to focus on the woman who had made them and on what had happened between them a few minutes ago. “Earlier, when I touched your knee…”

  Lana looked up from her own pancake. A dusting of flour smudged her tan cheeks. “Yes?”

  “Well, my boss’s party is on Friday, and we’ll have to convince everyone we’re newly in love and can’t keep our hands off each other. If we avoid touching, my colleagues will immediately know something is up. They are trained to notice that kind of thing. So if you’ve got a problem with me touching you, you’d better tell me now.”

  “I don’t have a problem with that,” Lana said.

  Oh yeah? It sure looked like it earlier. Claire knew she couldn’t afford to let this go. “Just to make it crystal clear, I wasn’t trying to take advantage. It wasn’t meant to be a sexual touch at all. Our contract specifically excludes that kind of, um, thing.”

  Lana sighed and put
down her fork. “I know. That wasn’t why I flinched away. I just…” She gestured toward her leg, drawing Claire’s gaze down.

  What the…? Claire nearly dropped her fork.

  Lana’s sleep shorts left the lower parts of her soft thighs bare. On her left leg, a pink, slightly raised scar ran from the edge of the shorts to the top of her knee.

  “My leg is bothering me today,” Lana said.

  The pancake sat like a clump of mud in Claire’s stomach. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No!” Lana put her hand on Claire’s.

  Her skin was warm against Claire’s suddenly clammy fingers, making her relax her grip on the fork.

  Lana took her hand away. “You didn’t. Really. It just felt weird for a second to have someone touch it.”

  Did that mean no one else had ever touched the scar? Claire ignored the question. It was none of her business. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

  “Why would you?” Lana started eating again. “It’s no big deal.”

  Claire had to stop herself from calling her on that obvious lie. Lana was clearly sensitive about being “psychoanalyzed,” but Claire couldn’t completely let it go. “Do you want to talk about what happened?” she asked quietly.

  “And spoil my perfect pancakes?” Lana shook her head. “It happened, I survived and moved on and don’t want to keep talking about it. I guess you can relate.”

  Was she talking about Claire’s refusal to talk about her breakup? “What if one of my colleagues notices and asks me about it?”

  “What if they ask me about what happened between you and Abby?”

  Claire sighed. Touché.

  “Just tell them it’s an old injury that acts up every now and then,” Lana said.

  “All right.” She watched Lana finish her pancake in silence.

  When Lana got up to carry the plates to the sink, Claire waved her away. “You cooked, I’ll clean up.”

  Lana didn’t protest. “Thanks.”

  Claire leaned against the sink. Her gaze followed Lana to the door. She hadn’t noticed it before, but now she detected a slight limp. “Lana?”

  Lana turned. A bit of wariness lurked in her usually open gaze.

  “Thanks for breakfast. And, um, if you want to use my bathtub, you can. It comes with massage jets. Maybe they could help with your leg.”

  Lana smiled, which chased away the wariness in her eyes. “You’d really share your pristine bathroom with me?”

  Claire gave her a mock glare. “Only if you promise to wipe down the fixtures afterward.”

  “Aye-aye, ma’am.” Lana fired off a salute. Then her comical face softened into another smile. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Claire said quietly and stared after her as she walked away.

  Chapter 7

  Even if Claire had paid her more, Lana would have refused to give up her job at the Mean Bean. Claire had clearly judged her job as a barista as not impressive enough, but Lana loved the hiss of the espresso machine, the soothing murmur of voices, and the clinking of dishes. Nothing beat the scent of freshly brewed coffee, hazelnut, and caramel either.

  Well, she admitted to herself, she could do without customers like the one who had just stepped up to the counter and ordered, “A medium vanilla latte, please, but in an extra-large cup.”

  Lana didn’t bat an eye. “Coming right up.”

  The woman turned to the customer behind her. “That lets the coffee breathe, you know?”

  Lana held back a grin. She could imagine Claire ordering something like that—without the vanilla syrup, of course.

  “Oh, and please make the milk half skim, half soy, with a dollop of whipped cream on top,” the customer added.

  Okay, even Claire wouldn’t order her latte like that. Lana exchanged a glance with Avery, who was restacking the towers of paper cups and lids.

  Once half-skim-half-soy woman was gone and they had served the two customers in line behind her, Avery leaned against the gleaming espresso machine and shook her head. “She is definitely a few beans short of an espresso.”

  “Well, as a wise woman taught me, the customer is always right—even when she’s wrong,” Lana said with a smile.

  They kept their voices down so that the customers sipping coffee at the small tables lining the wall opposite the counter couldn’t hear them.

  Avery eyed her. “What’s up with you, sis? You’re in a good mood today.”

  “Nothing’s up. I’m always in a good mood.”

  “Yeah, but today it’s with an extra dash of good on top.”

  Lana shrugged. For once, she didn’t need to worry about where the money for her rent and the medical bills would come from. She’d also enjoyed a long soak in Claire’s bathtub last night, so her leg didn’t bother her today.

  “Ah, I get it now. That new girlfriend of yours must be pretty good in bed.”

  “Avery!” Lana started coughing and looked around to see if any of the customers at the tables had heard. Thankfully, they were all focused on their beverages. “Isn’t there some kind of law that prevents employers from asking about an employee’s sex life?”

  Avery grinned unrepentantly. “Not when your boss is also your favorite sister.”

  “Stepsister. Are we even still stepsisters since our parents are divorced?”

  “Think you can get rid of me so you don’t have to tell me about your sex life?” Avery flicked a coffee bean at her. “Come on. Tell me.”

  “There’s nothing to tell. How do you even know I have a new girlfriend?” Lana had barely told her anything. She didn’t want to draw the only family member she was still in contact with into this crazy charade.

  “I saw that you changed your address in your employee file this morning, and I know I’m not paying you enough to even rent a bird house in that neighborhood. So, is she rich?” Avery waggled her brows. “Hot?” She nudged her. “Come on. Spill the beans.”

  “Would you lay off the coffee metaphors?”

  “I will—if you show me a photo of your girl.”

  “She’s not a girl…and I don’t have a photo of her.” If she showed Avery the same photo from Claire’s therapist website she had shown Jill, Avery would instantly know something strange was going on. She knew Lana avoided therapists like vampires avoided holy water and, unlike her mother, would never get involved with one.

  Avery frowned. “No photo? Not even one?” She leaned her hip against the counter and regarded Lana. A shadow of hurt passed over her face. “You know, I thought we could tell each other everything. That’s how it’s always been, from the moment my dad started dating your mom. Why are you suddenly keeping secrets from me?”

  “I’m not. Not really.” Damn. She should have thought about this sooner. Of course her fake relationship would affect the people in her life and make them think she was shutting them out. “I just…”

  “Oh hell,” Avery said. “Don’t tell me you’re dating someone on the rebound, and that’s why you want to keep it from me. Come on, Lana! After Katrina, you really should know better.”

  “No, that’s not it. Really.” Although, technically, Claire was on the rebound. Even if not for her slightly uptight personality and OCD tendencies, Claire wasn’t someone Lana would have ever dated. Having her heart ripped out once when her girlfriend had decided to go back to her ex was enough. “What Claire and I have is…special and very much unlike all of my past relationships. I guess I just don’t want to jinx it by telling people about it too soon.”

  That wasn’t a lie, she told herself. A fake fiancée arrangement certainly wasn’t her usual style.

  “People?” Avery repeated. “I’m not people. I’m family. When are you going to introduce me to her?”

  “Um, Claire’s a pretty busy wo—”

  The jingle of the bell over the door announced a new cu
stomer.

  Phew. Saved by the bell. She hated lying to her sister, so the less she said, the better.

  “Lucky you,” Avery said. “Okay, back to the grind.”

  Lana rolled her eyes at yet another coffee metaphor and turned to greet the customer with a smile. “What can I get you today?”

  When Lana got home later that afternoon, Claire’s Audi A6 was already in its spot in the two-car garage.

  Strange. What is Claire doing home so early?

  Lana parked next to the gleaming silver vehicle, climbed out of her battered Volkswagen Rabbit, and paused.

  Wait a sec! Did I just think of Claire’s house as home?

  She shrugged and took it as a sign that she was starting to get into her role, which was a good thing, considering they had their first big show in front of Claire’s colleagues in three days.

  She unlocked the front door.

  No beep from the security system since it had already been disarmed.

  “Claire?” she called out.

  “Yes, I’m here,” came Claire’s voice from somewhere down the hall.

  Lana dropped her keys on the table next to the door, then, already two steps down the hall, she turned back around and hung them on a hook next to Claire’s. She found Claire in her home office next to the master bedroom, sitting at a desk with a high-end computer that looked as if it could steer an army of spaceships.

  “Hi,” Lana said. “You’re home early.”

  “I never schedule sessions with patients on Tuesday afternoons, remember?” Claire answered without taking her fingers off the keyboard.

  When they had talked about their work schedules, Claire had said that she took off Tuesday afternoons to work on her book.

  “But I thought you were already done with the book.”

  “I am. I’m just getting a head start on the editing process by polishing it a little.”

  Lana bit back a grin. If she looked up perfectionist in the dictionary, there would probably be a picture of Claire next to the entry. Knowing her, she would still be fiddling with her book two seconds before the printer started the presses. Lana stepped closer and leaned forward to get a glimpse of the manuscript over Claire’s shoulder.