to the sun.
Kirstie reached for a tissue and blew her nose. “And here I am looking and smelling like a bed of dried fish eggs. Oh my goodness, he’s a hunk. Would you look at him?”
“Who is he?” Oh yeah, Carmen could be smitten. Six years was too much time to grieve even the best of men, and though Gil had been a better man than Barry, his idea of a romantic gesture had been taking out the trash every couple of weeks. Lack of exercise was why he’d succumbed early in life to a premature heart attack.
“Careful, Carmen,” Kirstie said. “He’s too young for either of us. I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure he’s Megan’s boss.”
“Alec Thompson is Megan’s boss,” Lynley said.
“I mean her boss in Corpus Christi.”
Carmen leaned closer to the window for a better look, and a bemused smile tipped her curvy pink lips. “That guy she couldn’t shut up about the day she flew up here for Lynley’s divorce party?”
“It wasn’t a party,” Lynley said. “It was commiseration.”
For Kirstie, it had been a party. “He fits her description, doesn’t he?”
“He still runs the rescue mission?” Carmen asked.
“He also matches the hunky photo his sister took for his online profile.”
Lynley cleared her throat as if to remind them she was still in the room. “Would you please stop talking about hunky men in front of your only child?”
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