Espresso Shot

“Clare Cosi!” Everyone cried, lifting their glasses.

Matt climbed down from the chair and gri

Matt turned to his bride. “Go ahead, Brea

Bree’s Beaujolais Red lips froze so stiffly I thought they were going to crack off and fall into her antichuchos. She set her small plate of diced, marinated, and grilled cow heart down on the room’s long bar, took a substantial hit off her white sangria, and said, “I’ll pass.”

“You’ll pass?” Matt echoed.

“You’ve said it so eloquently already, darling. Why would I want to gild the lily?”

A vision of Brea

“My mom’s the greatest, isn’t she?” Joy gushed beside us.

I turned to my daughter and thanked her with a smile (sans synthetics). Matt and I had picked her up at Ke

I couldn’t get over Joy’s transformation. Her health was back, for one thing. She’d lost a great deal of weight a few months ago. After her false arrest, the murder of her friend, and her degrading expulsion from culinary school, she’d spent two solid weeks doing nothing but crying. Her skin had gone sallow, her bright eyes had dulled.

The magnificent city of Paris had recharged her spirits and tempted her with its cuisine. Her too-thin figure had filled out again, her cheeks were rosy, her skin a warm peach. She said she and her roommate had gone down to Nice for a few days to catch a tan, not to mention the attention of a few cute-looking French boys from the cell phone pictures she’d showed me.

She looked cute herself at the moment in a sundress the color of lemon pie. She’d arranged her glossy chestnut hair in a French twist as sleek as Brea

It had been hard as hell, sending my broken daughter away. But seeing her so happy now recharged my own spirits. I was proud of the way she’d pulled herself together and dug into the demanding job she’d secured (with a little help from her grandmother’s co

“I learned so much from my mom,” Joy told Brea

I almost pinched myself. Given the rough ride I’d endured with my child over the past few years (which mainly consisted of Joy telling me-with a great deal of attitude-to butt out of her business), I often wondered whether we’d ever again be as close as we were when she’d been a little girl. Her maturing outlook gave me hope.

“Despite what your lovely daughter implied,” Brea

“You don’t owe me,” I said. “That’s true.” We were standing alone at one end of the bar. Matt had taken Joy by the arm to proudly introduce her around the room, leaving Brea

“Right now.” Bree rolled her eyes. “You’re so transparent, Clare.”

“I am?”

“You want him back.”

I nearly choked on my sparkling water. After last night’s beers, I’d declined any alcohol. I suddenly changed my mind.

“Pisco Sour,” I told the bartender.

Hoping to shake Brea

“Answer me, Clare,” Brea

Oh, for pity’s sake. Can’t this woman take a hint? I turned to face Brea

“And I’m sick to death of your meddling.”

Meddling?! Unbelievable! I risk my life for this woman, and this is what I get?

“You know what, Bree? You’re a big girl. I think it’s time you heard the unvarnished truth: I don’t want Matt back, and do you know how I can prove that to you for once and for all? If I had wanted him back, you wouldn’t be pla

Brea

“I’m not implying anything that crass. I’m trying to get you to remember that Matt’s going to put Nunzio’s ring on your finger a few days from now. Not mine.”

“Hey, kids…” Matt walked over, a big, clueless grin on his handsome face. “How are two of my best girls doing?”

Brea

The man’s puppy-dog smile fell.

Congratulations, Matt, you finally picked up on your bride’s mood. What did it for you? The acid tone or the murderous scowl?

“What?” He scratched his head. “What did I say?”

Brea

“That’s right.” Matt shrugged. “I’ve got my daughter here today, too. And my mother. I have a lot of important girls in my life, Brea

God, Matt, just open your mouth and put your Bruno Magli shoe in already.

Brea

“Allow me.” I turned to the bartender and ordered Bree her very own Pisco Sour.

“Everything’s okay, isn’t it?” Matt said, his gaze darting from Brea

“Ask her,” I said.

Brea

Matt’s eyes found mine. “I don’t feel that way.” He turned to his bride, took hold of her arms. “I was worried about you, Bree. And Clare helped me out. She helped us both out, as far as I’m concerned.”

Brea

“Clare, dear! Over here!” From across the crowd, an older woman with sleek silver hair, a softly wrinkled face, and amused blue eyes waved at me.