him coffee. He’ll sober right up.”
“Have you seen him?” Megan’s throat ached under the strain of keeping her voice level.
Darius snorted. “There isn’t enough coffee in the store to sober up old Stan.”
Ramona frowned. “He promised me he wouldn’t drink before the reading.”
“He lied.” Quincy stated the obvious.
Ramona’s dark eyes snapped at him. “He said he needed work to rebuild his self-esteem and get off the alcohol.”
Megan took a deep breath. She counted to ten, then exhaled. “How are you going to fix this, Ramona?”
“Me?” Ramona pressed her index finger against her chest. “Why do I have to fix it?”
“Because . . .” Megan pressed her lips together, hating herself for not being able to stand up to her older cousin.
Quincy crossed his arms. “You hired him. You should be the one to fire him, Mona.”
“Don’t call me that.” Ramona gave the group a stubborn look. “Let’s wait and see. Once Stan’s sober, he’ll read to the children. It’ll boost his self-esteem, and your party’ll be a howling success, just as it always is.”
Megan’s skull started to ache. She was sympathetic to Stan. She really was. But Ramona had taken empathy to the edge of reason.
“The parents who brought their children here are on a schedule. So is the store.” Megan checked her red Timex. “The reading is supposed to start in seven minutes.”
“You and your schedules.” Ramona rolled her eyes. “What’ll happen if story time starts late? Will the kids turn into pumpkins?”
Darius bent over, laughing.
Megan thought her head would explode. “How long will it take for Stan to get sober?”
Quincy scratched his chin. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him sober.”
Darius shrugged. “There was that one time we saw him walking into the bar off Vine Street.”
“Oh, yeah.” Quincy nodded.
Megan closed her eyes briefly. “Fine. I’ll take care of it.”
Just as she’d dealt with other messes Ramona had made of her plans. She turned to stomp away, but a firm grasp held her in place.
Her cousin’s sigh was suffering yet irritated. “I’ll handle Stan.” Ramona released her. She adjusted her pointed hat and smoothed her dress.
It really was a great costume. She’d gotten into the spirit of the event, as she always did. The long-sleeved black dress had a neckline that was just short of daring, a figure-hugging bodice and a pencil-thin, ankle-length skirt. The pointed black hat balanced at a cocky angle on her head. Spiders danced at the end of her dangling silver earrings. Skeleton-shaped charms hung from her necklace.
Megan wasn’t the only one who watched her cousin. Quincy’s mesmerized gaze followed Ramona’s every move.
Megan allowed herself to hope. “You’ll take Stan home?”
“Later.” Ramona shook her head. “Keep him in the kitchen, drinking coffee. I’ll take him home after I read to the kids.”
“You’ll read to them?” Quincy’s voice rose with surprise.
Ramona’s dark gaze should have turned the university professor to ashes. “Contrary to your opinion, I can read.”
Megan’s headache disappeared. Her facial muscles relaxed into a smile. “Thanks, Ramona. Let’s get started.”
Before Ramona could have second thoughts, Megan grabbed her cousin’s arm and dragged her to the front of the store. She delivered Ramona to the Halloween reading area, which she, Doreen and their student helpers had created.
After announcing story time, Megan gingerly made her way through the sea of children sprawled on the floor around Ramona. They listened, enraptured, as she started the first Halloween story. Megan had seated her cousin in an ornate red velvet throne that doubled as Santa’s chair during the Christmas season. Today, two large human skulls were staked to the seat’s high back, and two smaller ones were driven onto the chair’s arms—all fake, of course.
“What a relief.” Megan sighed as she joined Ean, Darius and Quincy at the perimeter of the entertainment.
“I told you it would work out.” Ean tossed her a smile.
“I wasn’t sure.” Megan felt his eyes on her. His attention made her self-conscious. She also felt powerful, sexy and aroused.
The children jumped after Ramona’s dramatic pause in the story. It was a talent her cousin had perfected by tormenting a much younger Megan. Ramona adopted different voices for each character in the creepy tale.
“The witch saved Halloween.” Quincy’s voice was thoughtful.
“Now there’s a headline.” Darius unwrapped the piece of chocolate he’d taken from a candy bowl. The crystal bowl was in the shape of a fake, decaying hand. Megan’s staff had placed several of them around the store.
Ean came to Ramona’s defense. “Sometimes Ramona can surprise you with a generous act. She’s not as aloof as she sometimes seems.”
Ean spoke with affection. The bubble of feminine power in which Megan had been basking popped. She fought the urge to withdraw into herself.
How could she have entertained even for one second the smallest kernel of hope that Ean Fever could ever give her a second look—especially with Ramona around?
CHAPTER 8
“What movie do you want to see tonight?” Ean drained his glass of water Thursday morning. He’d been home for almost a month. He rose from his seat at the kitchen table to add the glass to the dishwasher.
Sharing breakfast with his mother was like old times. The difference was his father should have been at the table, too. He should be the one getting ready for work.
Ean struggled free from the weight of grief. After his mother left for work, he’d go for his morning jog. Would he see Megan in the park again? He couldn’t stop thinking of their near kiss three weeks ago—and how badly he wished she hadn’t run from him.
“I thought I’d make us dinner tonight.” His mother’s response interrupted his thoughts.
“You wouldn’t rather go out? My treat.” Ean returned to the table to collect his mother’s empty breakfast dishes.
“I’d assumed as much.” Doreen’s smile was unsteady. “But I’d rather stay in for dinner. Just the two of us. And a friend.”
“Who?” Ean stacked her dishes in the dishwasher, then closed its door before facing his mother.
Doreen hesitated. “Leo. I want the two of you to get reacquainted.”
Ean leaned against the kitchen counter for support. “You mean you want me to accept him as your boyfriend.”
Doreen inclined her head. “At my age, the term ‘boyfriend’ sounds odd, but you’re essentially right.”
It did sound odd to say his mother had a boyfriend, but Ean would embrace that word, if only to avoid the images associated with alternative terms. “I’m not going to stand in the way of your dating Coach George, but there’s no reason for me to spend time with him.”
“Yes, there is. I’m not going to divide my life into two halves just because you’re uncomfortable with my relationship with Leo.”
Ean recognized the determination in Doreen’s warm brown eyes. She’d been giving him that look all of his life—when he protested eating his vegetables, doing his