“Hey, Cynthia. Everyone. Hello, Tera, how are you?” Noah attempted a smile. “Cynthia, are you ready? My mother would like to say hi.”

Her elated smile dripped off her face, and for some reason, that was the best sight he’d seen all day. After forcing Art on him, thereby exposing him to the most racist and sexist jokes he’d ever heard, Cynthia deserved a little reciprocity.

“Oh no, I can—” Cynthia started.

“Can I go?” Bessie asked with a hopeful expression.

“Yes, Cynthia, that’s a great idea,” Tamie said quickly. “Why don’t you run over to the Arnold house. Say hi for me.”

“Looking like that?” Tera put her hand to her chest. “No. Cynthia, go change.”

“What’s the point?” Ellen muttered. No question about it—she was pissed.

He took a step back as Tamie said to Cynthia, “Yes, go change. There’s a good girl. Off you go—Bessie, stop hanging on to her. Honestly, do you want to go back to that wretched nursing home?”

“Yes,” Bessie said.

Tamie huffed as she bustled over to Cynthia and began pushing her toward the kitchen entrance.

“Save yourself,” Cynthia called over her shoulder as she was swept out of the room. Tamie didn’t return, no doubt assuming (correctly, he imagined) that Cynthia wouldn’t do as instructed unless she had constant supervision.

“Have a seat, Noah,” Tera said, shepherding him toward the table. “Cynthia will be just a second.”

As soon as he sat down, Bessie wheeled closer. “What are you in for?” she asked.

This place was a madhouse.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Tera asked.

“No, I’m fine,” Noah replied.

“Where are you living now?” Ellen asked Noah, her voice hard.

“Sacramento.” He glanced at the clock. His mom would be wondering where he was.

“What is it you do there?” Tera asked.

“At the moment, I’m a fitness model,” he replied, trying not to squirm in his seat.

“A fitness model?” Tera asked, a crease forming between her brows.

Ellen rolled her eyes and gave him a placating smile. Apparently that didn’t meet her standards. If only she knew what else he did…

Cynthia’s voice drifted into the kitchen. “Mother, it’s fine. He’s trying to lure me outside to kill me, not to talk to his mother. You need to read between the lies.” He barely stopped a laugh.

“Cynthia, honey, try not to be so odd,” they heard Tamie say.

“She’s always had a…great sense of humor,” Tera said, but it sounded like an apology.

Cynthia strolled into the kitchen in a pinstriped skirt that showed off the curve of her hips and the definition of her calves. Heels. A blouse hugged her perky breasts and draped over her flat stomach before tucking into her skirt. A jacket matched the outfit, and a scarf hung around her neck. She looked at once sleek and beautiful, intimidating and powerful. His cock hardened again.

“My mother apparently thinks I’m going to work,” Cynthia said in a flat, humorless voice.

Soft brown hair flowed around her beautiful face, slightly flushed from the hurried outfit change. She didn’t have makeup on, but she didn’t need it. Her piercing blue eyes glowed with intelligence, and her plump lips had a natural pink hue.

All the Bell sisters were lovely, but Cynthia’s fire set her apart.

How had he never noticed that before?

“Okay, you kids have a great time!” Tamie ushered Cynthia toward Noah. “Don’t keep her out too late now, Noah.”

“Won’t you be sorry when I turn up in a ditch tomorrow,” Cynthia muttered.

“Such a kidder.” Tamie motioned for Noah to stand, which he did without a moment’s hesitation. “She’s just tired; don’t mind her. Her personality levels out the longer you’re in her company.”

“Clearly I didn’t get the marketing genes from you, Ma,” Cynthia said as she moved toward the nearest exit.

“Come back for me,” Bessie hollered as they stepped through the back door.

“You sent her out looking like that?” Noah heard as Cynthia reached out to close the door.

“She didn’t have anything else. You need to take her shop—”

The voices were muffled as Cynthia clicked the door shut. The two of them paused for a moment, neither of them saying a word.

“So,” Noah finally said, cracking a smile. “Your family is nuts, huh?”

Cynthia deflated with a soft laugh. “Batshit crazy, yeah. It wasn’t always this bad, but in the last few years, everyone’s gone a little lopsided. Or maybe I’m just now noticing it.”

“I never hung around your house much—”

“When my parents were awake,” she corrected.

He felt his face heat as she started forward. “Right…”

She threw him a smile over her shoulder. “I’m joking. My mom and sisters were always at a certain level, I was always the weird third sister that hung out with nerds, and my dad was always working or golfing. That, or with his nose in a paper or report. But I’ve been back for a couple weeks now, and…I don’t know. It’s different somehow. It’s like my mother has multiplied, my dad has multiplied, and I fit in even less than before. And then there’s the whole Aunt Bessie situation, which is starting to worry me. As of today.”

He laughed as they made it to the side gate. She flipped the latch and opened it. Acting on impulse, he stepped forward to hold it open for her. She bumped into his side, and pleasant shivers ran though his body. Warmth pooled low.

She looked up at him. Their eyes met. The world around them spun, dizzying him, before dropping away. All he could focus on was the deep blue of her eyes. The tantalizing smell of her. The heat touching his side.

“So you’re a real gentleman, huh?” she asked in a steady voice. The voice of someone who did not seem to feel the intensity of their touch. The heat of their contact. “Or is this a ruse?”

His face heated again as he ripped his eyes away from hers. He took a step away, straightening his arm so he could still hold the door open. There was nothing more embarrassing than imagining a connection that didn’t exist.

“I try to be a gentleman, yes. Always have. Go.” He nodded to get her moving.

“Well, oh ho. Looky here. Mr. One-Eighty. Okay, okay, you don’t have to be pushy.” She hopped forward in jest, clearly a pantomime of hurrying. Her stiletto heel got stuck in the gravel, though, and she tripped before staggering to the right. Her other ankle bent, not holding her weight, and her body swayed alarmingly in the opposite direction.

He rushed forward to grab her, seeing what was happening, but he didn’t make it in time. Her foot popped out of her left shoe, still embedded in the gravel, as she struggled to catch her balance. Her other foot didn’t find traction soon enough to keep her upright, and she fell forward.

Luckily, they were on the edge of the lawn. Unluckily, the lawn was surrounded by a strip of decorative, rocky concrete.

She scraped her face and chest against the grass. Her thighs slid against the cement. Then her knees. An oomph escaped her lips.

“Oh my God, are you okay?” He bent to grab her, trying to hoist her up.

She had already started scrambling for leverage, so when he got a hold of her arm, he wasn’t expecting her to flip onto her back, throwing his weight off center. She jolted back at his touch, but a strange shiver had already gone through his body at the contact. This woman would just not hold still!

“What are you—” His foot hit the strip of concrete and he plummeted next to her, completely off balance. His shoulder hit the grass before skidding to a stop. The concrete punched his thigh, giving him a charley horse.

Breathing heavily, he did what seemed was constantly necessary in her presence—took a moment to pause. This woman was like a tornado in a town with no storm cellars. Janie had nothing on her.