Opposites Distract by Judi Lynn Page A

Another wall must be going up. She looked in the cream-colored dining room, but didn’t see Paula. She glanced at her watch. Hmm, everyone must be late this time except her. She grabbed a magazine and snuggled down on a soft, leather sofa in the lobby to wait for them. When the pounding stopped, and Brody walked out and saw her, he glared. “Did you swallow a canary? You look awfully damned pleased with yourself today.”
    She laughed at his foul mood. “Someone must not have had a good morning, but I was on time. You weren’t.”
    Ian came up behind him. “We hit a snag, building a closet.”
    â€œLife happens.” She stood and looked around. Were they skipping lunch today and no one told her? “Are you always this grumpy when things don’t go your way?” she asked Brody.
    He scowled. “I had a hell of a time sleeping last night, kept thinking about things.” The scowl darkened. “It was your fault.”
    â€œMy fault?” What had she done?
    â€œYou and your comment about me getting too old to have kids.” He narrowed his eyes at her . . . considering. It made her nervous.
    She waved him off. “You’re not going to ruin my mood. I got up early and have fifteen pages written today—already! And they’re good ones.”
    Brody thought about that as Ian motioned them toward the kitchen. “How many do you usually write?”
    â€œI’m not a fast writer. I’m lucky when I get eight decent pages. I always do my rewrites in the morning before I start the new stuff.”
    Ian nodded. “That’s about what Tessa writes, too. She says if she gets ten pages a day, then in thirty days of writing, she’ll have a rough draft. She doesn’t write on weekends. Has the bakery to run on Friday and Saturday mornings.”
    Brody scratched his head. Sawdust fell to his shoulder. He grimaced and scrubbed his hands through his hair, shaking out the rest. “A lot more goes into writing than I thought.”
    â€œWhy would you think about it? Only writers fiddle with that kind of stuff.” Harmony looked around and frowned. “Where’s Paula?”
    Ian finished herding them into the kitchen. “She made sandwiches and a salad for us, but then took hers to the apartment to eat. Aiden’s home from school today, sick. Paula thinks he’s faking, but he’s never pulled this before, so she doesn’t know what’s up.”
    â€œSomething’s bothering him.” Harmony’s mouth set in a firm line. She glanced at Brody, and he nodded.
    â€œWe’ll figure it out.” He looked at his brother. “How’s Tessa today?”
    â€œShe doesn’t get sick when she eats, but she loses it when she cooks and the smells hit her. I’m sorry, but I think we’re going to have to eat at the diner for a while.”
    Brody’s expression turned to calculating. A worry wriggled down Harmony’s spine. He tossed an arm over her shoulders, as if they were comrades. At first, it surprised her, but then heat replaced her worry. “No need to. If you let Harmony and me use the kitchen here, we’ll cook dinners and bring them to your place. That way, no cooking smells, just food.”
    Ian stared. “What made you think of that?”
    Harmony stared, too. What the hell was he thinking? Did he hate eating out that much? She needed to get fifteen pages written a day! She was already stopping every afternoon to read to kids. Now he wanted her to cook?
    â€œHarmony volunteered for us to come to your place and help Tessa cook, remember? We’ll just take it one step farther.”
    Okay, she had volunteered to do that. Tessa was her best friend. She’d pitch in to help if Tessa needed it. If they could cook something fast, before they went to the bungalow, that was doable.
    Ian crossed his arms over his chest, unimpressed. “You don’t know how to