moment passed. Rebecca dragged Lilly to the stove, Charlie went back to mooning at Bree.
“She’s seeing him?” Lilly asked, her voice back down to a stage whisper. “Since when?”
“Not long.”
“How do you know this?”
“Obviously you don’t read his blog.”
“I do, but I’ve been too busy the past few days.” Lilly sneaked another peek. “That’ll teach me for putting work first.”
“Okay, it’s not because of his blog, I know because Charlie’s my cousin, and your chili is burning.”
Both of them took up spoons, the industrial-size ones, and stirred like the witches in Macbeth. “Seriously, what the hell?” Lilly said.
“I set them up.”
Lilly, who was something of a mystery to Rebecca, a friend in the making, but guarded, so very guarded, opened her mouth, then must have reconsidered. She did, however, step closer to Rebecca. “Explain. In detail, please. And remember, I have a large spoon in my hand, and I swear to God I’ll use it if you keep being cryptic.”
“I don’t usually set people up,” Rebecca replied. “Especially not Charlie because he’s got hot-and-cold running women in his life, but he and Bree … they fit.”
“Before the trading cards? During? Because if Charlie Winslow was a trading card then I want my money back.”
“You didn’t pay for anything.”
“Rebecca.”
“Right. He wasn’t a card. Technically.”
“I’ve been out with two trading cards. The first one was a wonderful guy, as long as you were willing to put up with his ardent love for his mother. The second guy’s card said he wanted a relationship, but his actions were completely one-night stand.”
“I know. My dates haven’t been life shattering, either, although I hear Paulie met someone fantastic, and that Tess’s one-night stand has turned into three.”
“Which still doesn’t explain Charlie Winslow,” Lilly said, frowning.
“It’s complicated, and we’ll discuss it more when we go for drinks, but if I’m talking to you, my eavesdropping sucks, so let’s keep stirring and shut the hell up.”
CHARLIE SWALLOWED, WONDERING for the fiftieth time what he was doing in the basement of a church kitchen fumbling around like a teenager on his first date. Bree was reading the blog pages he’d printed out, and she was kind enough not to mention that he hadn’t needed to come see her or print out the pages as the blog would be online first thing in the morning.
He’d asked her to do a little bio piece and tomorrow morning it would run. She’d already given a tease—her first sidebar about the Chelsea Piers party—and it could have ended right there. But blog hits had been up, and she’d gotten more than seven hundred comments on her column. Very encouraging.
So he’d moved forward. Tomorrow morning there would be more pictures of Bree, some from college days, one from here in New York in casual wear. He hoped it would start a dialogue.
His gaze went to Rebecca, whom he caught in mid-smirk, and he touched Bree’s arm, interrupting her reading. “I’ll be back in a few.”
She nodded, and he went over to Rebecca. He smiled at her friend, then turned to his cousin. “A minute? Outside?”
Her eyes narrowed, but she put down her spoon and walked with him to the door. Once they were outside, she shivered at the cold, but didn’t go back for her coat. “You can thank me now,” she said. “And later. I accept gifts, too. The more expensive the better.”
“We’re not dating.”
“I read NNY, you dope,” she said.
“You read what I write on NNY. And evidently you haven’t spoken to your friend since yesterday before lunch.”
“That’s true. We’re going out after the meals are in the freezer.”
As Charlie stuck his hands in his pockets, she grimaced. The bastard should have given her his coat. “Why did you set me up with her?” he asked.
“Why did you bring me out here to freeze to death?”
He rolled his eyes dramatically and took off his coat with a sigh that would have done a Broadway diva proud.
She curled herself into the heavy wool coat, the lining as luxurious as the tailoring. “Because she’s your type.”
“No, she’s not. She’s not vaguely my type. Do you even know me?”
“Yeah. I do. And those skeletons you go out with every night are a joke. I imagine you can count the ones you actually like on one hand.”
“It doesn’t matter if I like them.”
“You happen to be one of the only relatives I can stomach,” she said, “but Charlie, it’s time for you to move on. You’re what, thirty-two?”
“Thirty-one.”
“Over thirty. You’ve spent your entire working life giving your parents and our family the finger. It’s enough. You need to start living for you, and stop giving them all the power.”
He stared at her with his great big eyes, mouth open, as if the cold itself couldn’t penetrate his shock. “What the fuck are you talking about, Rebecca?”
“Naked New York. Your blog. Not the others, not the legit blogs. Yours. The one that runs every aspect of your life. If you want to call it a life.”
“I’m raking in millions.”
“You already had millions. Look, I have to get back to the cooking. Do what you have to do, but think about it, okay? What it would be like if your evenings were full of things you actually wanted to do? If you went out with people you actually liked?”
“You’re insane. The Winslow foundation has driven you around the bend.”
“Yeah, well, maybe. Oh, and remember. Don’t screw with Bree, Charlie. She may want to play in the fashion big league, but she’s a really decent person. She’s not used to people like us. Tread lightly.”
“I told you. We’re not dating.”
“The way you two look at each other? I give it three days. Four at the most.”
“It’s freezing, and I’m not listening to you anymore.” He brushed past her, and she followed, wondering how such a smart, smart man could be such an idiot.
BREE LOOKED UP FROM the blog page as Charlie came toward her. He looked cold, and she saw why as Rebecca followed him. He’d offered his cousin his coat. Another nice thing, but not in the same league as what she had been reading. “You hardly changed anything,”
