was young and stupid.”
“You were twenty-six. You’re barely twenty-eight now. And, Jocelyn, you’ve never been stupid.”
For a fleeting victorious moment, he had her speechless. But nothing good lasted forever.
“Everyone makes mistakes,” she quipped. “You were just an easy way to meet my quota.”
“You wound me.”
“I try.”
Didn’t he know it. Whether it was taking Southwestern cooking classes, futile attempts to train her cat or fleecing everyone else at the table in high-stakes poker, she exerted the same level of effort. Why couldn’t she have unproductive noncompetitive fun once in awhile?
And what degree of control-freak insanity did it take for someone to try to train a cat?
Hugh sighed. It wasn’t that he had no work ethic, it was just that his brother Craig’s heart attack had been a startling wake-up call. “Take care of yourself, J.”
“I…You, too.” She regarded him curiously, then shook her head. Within moments, she’d merged into the crowd, a flash of red among less colorful individuals.
As he drove home later, Hugh told himself it was best Joss hadn’t taken him up on his offer of a nightcap. Given their history, they would have ended up trying to outdrink one another, and alcohol poisoning was not his idea of a good time. Hugh may have gained new perspective since the collapse of his older brother, the attorney, this summer, but he still had a competitive nature thirty years in the making.
Growing up, he and his two brothers had competed over everything from athletics to academics to attention from their parents. There had been some friction—particularly between Hugh, to whom many things came easily, and Craig, who resented “losing” to someone three years his junior—but most of the brothers’ fighting had been of the short-lived let’s-just-deck-each-other-then-go-for-beer variety. Overall, the pressure they put on one another had spurred them to higher achievements. Since college, no one had challenged Hugh quite like that.
Until he’d met Joss.
Both ambitious junior execs on the fast-track to success, they’d been natural rivals for each other. Everyone said opposites attracted, but he and Joss mirrored each other, and he’d never wanted a woman more. In some ways, he’d been in peak form when working with her, but his time with Joss had also made him more like his workaholic brother Craig.
Hugh had once thought he and Joss brought out the best in each other. It was equally possible they brought out the worst.
DESPITE A BRIGHT NOONDAY SUN, the breeze that carried mist from the fountain in Williams Square was enough to chill Joss’s skin.
Emily, however, didn’t seem to mind. She nudged Joss off the sidewalk, toward the nine bronze mustangs caught in a frozen gallop across the plaza. The fountain sculpture was one of Emily’s favorite places, and they walked by anytime they had lunch in Las Colinas. Today, they’d shared stromboli at an Italian café overlooking Mandalay Canal. Joss had filled her friend in on the details of last night, and Emily had told her about the good book she’d read after Simon blew off their date for a “networking opportunity” with one of the college deans.
“Aren’t you cold?” Joss demanded. She had on a long-sleeved henley, while her brunette friend wore short sleeves.
“No, why?”
Why, indeed. Joss freely admitted that, of the two of them, Emily was warmer—inside and out. Which was why she deserved someone who fully appreciated her.
“Hey, Em…do you ever think about what it would be like to be with someone besides Simon?”
Emily’s eyes widened. “You mean like cheating on him?”
“No, I meant if things didn’t work out. Hypothetically.”
“Why wouldn’t they? Do you think I’m doing something wrong?”
“Of course not! Like I said, it was strictly a hypothetical question. I didn’t mean to alarm you.” Seeking divine assistance, Joss rolled her eyes heavenward. “Simon’s lucky to have you. Don’t let him make you feel inferior.”
“He’s not ‘making’ me feel anything. You know how I am, Joss.” With a sigh, Emily sat on a shadowed ledge near the fountain. “We aren’t all born with your self-confidence.”
Born with confidence…or just born to a very determined mother?
A memory surfaced of an elementary-school choir recital—Joss had loved to sing, despite tentative pitch, and she’d been looking forward to the concert. But when all the parents had filed into the auditorium, her knees had started knocking in time to the pianist’s metronome. Her voice squeaky with nerves, she’d still managed to warble through her stage fright.
She’d been filled with a huge sense of accomplishment and renewed confidence…until her mother announced on the drive home that she wasn’t about to let her daughter make such a public fool of herself again. If Jocelyn wanted to sing, Vivian would help her do it well. A week later, Joss had begun private voice lessons, with her mother’s full support.
The kind of support that ensured job security for therapists.
Giving up the sun that hadn’t been keeping her warm anyway, Joss sat next to her friend in the shade. “Trust me, Em, there are plenty of things I’m bad at. And you’re selling yourself short. Not everyone can teach. Or write.”
“Sure.” Emily pitched a penny into the softly gurgling water, and Joss wondered what today’s wish had been. “Put me on the other side of a piece of paper, or in front of a whole class, I’m fine. It’s one-on-one interactions that make me nervous.”
This came as no surprise to Joss. The two women had met when Mitman did some publicity work for the university, and though they’d hit it off pretty quickly, Emily was shy. The middle child between two boisterous brothers, Em was known for being quiet and accommodating—qualities that had led to her being hurt more than once, but also made her a soothing person to be around. Joss, at the other end of the spectrum, knew she wasn’t exactly lowkey, and appreciated the balance her friend helped provide. When Joss had first met David, she’d hoped he might be the romantic equivalent of a male Emily.
He’d been more the romantic equivalent of a brick.
What business did she really have trying to push Em to the realization that Simon was all wrong for her? Joss hadn’t had any more lasting success in her love life than her friend, whose pre-Simon relationships had included a compulsive liar and a man who waffled weekly between Em and his ex-wife, but was at least honest about it.
Thankfully, Emily changed the subject away from men entirely. “I was impressed with the improvements on the house, by the way. I went over to feed Dulcie, expecting a certified disaster, but it wasn’t as bad as you made it sound. I think maybe you’re just expecting too much too soon.”
“Who, me?”
The new house—rather, the seventy-year-old house she’d recently purchased—was either her pride and joy, or the albatross mortgaged around her neck for the next three decades. Depending on what day you asked.
She’d been en route to a subdivision of shinier modern homes with programmable digital thermostats and updated appliances when she’d driven by the neglected two-story for sale. It hadn’t been what she was looking for, but it had stood out among the houses she’d seen, with their cookie-cutter floor plans and treeless postage-stamp-size yards. Ultimately, the urge to perfect had been irresistible—she could buy the house at a bargain and reshape its raw appeal into her dream home.
Of course, recent business demands had thus far impeded her brilliant renovation schemes. And the “bargain” was costing her a fortune.
Emily’s continued reassurance was cheering. “The refinished dining-room floor looks terrific—I