Dinner was a disaster.

Big Daddy treated Buddy like a long-lost son, Momma was physically present but mentally absent, and Ja kept her eyes downcast in proper servant’s demeanor while memorizing the scene with voluminous mental notes.

Her novel was shaping up nicely.

When she served the duck, steaming and fragrant on a silver platter, Buddy did not wait for Big Daddy to carve. He grabbed a drumstick and ripped off a chunk of the roasted bird with his teeth, grinning and grunting his approval of the cuisine.

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Helena watched him in horror.

It wasn’t his table manners – she’d dated boys with more wealth and less couth – but the Polo shirt and khakis disgusted her.

Buddy now looked like every preppie boy she’d ever dated.

TO BE CONTINUED…