“My face does,” Dee muttered.

“Isn’t she great? She’s so nice and sweet. I met her at team practice the other day. Her dad is

‘Nice Guy’ Malone.”

“Fascinating,” Dee lied, then slammed her fork into Ric’s before he could get some of her cake.

“Don’t you need that hand to work so you can keep cooking?”

“You won’t share?”

“Not without a fight.”

Ric leaned in a bit, the rest of the table having a discussion about something else she couldn’t care less about. “And don’t let this thing with Marcella Malone bother you, Dee. You have more important work to do. I expect you to impress me.”

“Because that’s my life goal,” she replied dryly. “To impress a Van Holtz.”

“All the Packs would be better off if that was their life’s goal.”

“Y’all born with that level of arrogance?”

Ric grinned, showing perfect, gleaming white teeth. “It seems that way. Although my Aunt Irene says she hasn’t quite figured out if it’s an inborn personality trait or a genetic defect. But she’s working on it.”

Ric walked his guests out of his restaurant. It was a hot, muggy night and he couldn’t wait to get home. But he still had to ensure the kitchen was shut down properly, that he knew what was being delivered tomorrow so he could start working on the menu for himself and his Aunt Adelle, who shared executive chef duties with him, and that he dealt with any complaints that may have come up in the evening if they had to do with his crew.

“Everything all right?” Lock asked him, the pair standing off to the side while the others watched a hyped-up Blayne do backflips in her skates. He could only guess that there was some processed sugar in the honey cake the pastry chef had made. He’d have to check since it was listed on the menu as a sugar-free dessert.

“I thought I saw Stein earlier.”

Lock turned toward him, eyes blinking wide. “Are you sure it was him?”

“Not really. But it looked like him.”

“Your father’s going to have a fit if the kid’s back.”

“I know.”

“Are you going to help him?”

“No.”

“Ric—”

“I’m not.” The kid had broken his heart. Ric wasn’t about to help him now. Those days were over. “The kid’s on his own, which—according to him—is the way he likes it.”

“Stubborn.”

“It’s a flaw I’ve learned to live with.”

By now Novikov had a wriggling “I need to run and be free!” Blayne over his shoulder. “Anyone need a ride?” he asked, heading to what Lock called the man’s “militarytransport.” A vehicle so big, it could get an entire Roman legion in it.

“No, thanks. We have our truck.”

“Okay. See you at the game tomorrow.” He started to open the door of his truck, but stopped and faced them. He thought a moment and said, “And thank you for dinner.” Ric, confused by the sudden bout of politeness, answered, “You’re welcome.” With a nod, he suddenly slapped Blayne’s rear and said, “Happy now? I said thank you to your loser friends and Gwen.”

“It’s progress! Now let me go to run free!”

“You’ll be in Connecticut before I can catch you and I have a game tomorrow.” He got her into his vehicle and put a seatbelt on her. It appeared to be a standard seatbelt but, for whatever reason, Blayne seemed unable to get it off, giving Novikov time to get around and inside the vehicle before his mate could make a run for it.

Watching her try to wiggle and fight her way out of that seatbelt, Ric stated, “I feel like we should be rescuing her.”

“Really?” Gwen asked, slipping her arm around Lock’s waist. “I always feel like I should be rescuing him. He’s gotta go home and deal with a hyped-up Blayne for the next few hours.” Ric shook his head. “I need to talk to Jean-Louis about his honey cake. It’s supposed to be sugar free.”

“You gonna tell him, hoss?” Dee suddenly asked from behind Ric. To be honest, he’d thought she’d left a while ago.

Lock, appearing caught, shrugged. “Don’t know what you mean.” He grabbed Gwen’s hand.

“Let’s go.”

“Wait. What’s the redneck talking about?” Gwen demanded, forced to follow her mate to their truck.

Ric sighed. “Okay. What’s going on?”

“I’m only telling you ’cause I don’t want Jean-whatever—”

“Jean-Louis.”

“Yeah. Him. He makes the best angel’s food cake I’ve ever had and I don’t want him fired over something not his fault. But when Novikov wasn’t looking, MacRyrie put sugar in Blayne’s soothing chamomile tea.”

Ric, working hard not to laugh, said, “Oh. That’s horrible. I’ll talk to Lock about it tomorrow.”

“What about you re-organizing Novikov’s hockey bag while he was in the bathroom? You gonna tell MacRyrie about that, too?”

“Probably not . . . right away.”

She grinned. “Y’all are so mean to that boy.”

“You act as if he doesn’t deserve it.”

“I didn’t say that, but where I come from, we tolerate our rude ones when they play a sport that well. We put up with Mitch Shaw for the town’s football season.”