Lila stifled a laugh. Askew was putting it mildly. That was a term used to describe a slight upheaval, a delicate shift from the norm. Her hair looked as though someone had dipped it in one of those cotton-candy machines and set it on high.

“If you must know, I ended today’s training lesson with some client-building rapport.” Lila hid her face behind a menu, even though she knew it by heart. None of the Vasquez sisters were the least adept at cooking, which meant they’d been coming to the Maple Street Grill for so many years that she could have recited its offerings in her sleep. “I think I’ll have the salmon tonight. With a nice chardonnay.”

Her tactful attempt at retreat failed. Before she could feign an interest in the wine list, Dawn plucked the menu out of Lila’s hand and sat on it. Sophie waved away the waitress who was hovering nearby and leaned across the table, her chin propped on her hands. “Define ‘client-building rapport,’” she ordered. “And don’t leave anything out. It must be good. I’ve never seen you turn that shade of red before.”

“That’s because you haven’t seen Ford Ford,” Dawn said knowingly.

There was no mirror handy, but Lila was pretty sure her shade of red deepened. “How do you know I wasn’t building rapport with Emily?”

“Because I’ve seen Ford Ford. Spill. Did he ravish you? I bet he did.” Dawn sighed. “I haven’t been ravished in forever. I’m starting to fear I’ve forgotten how.”

Sophie, who was being ravished on the regular by her large, incredibly rugged firefighter boyfriend, waved Dawn off. “You’ve had enough ravishing to last a lifetime. It’s Lila’s turn now. Seriously, Lil—it does look as though you spent the better part of the afternoon wrestling in the sheets. What happened to that beautiful crown of braids you had this morning?”

Lila saw no other option than to tell them the truth. Mustering her most respectable air, she said, “Mr. Ford asked me to teach him how to re-create that particular style. Apparently, Emily is fond of elaborate braids.”

Neither the mister in front of Ford’s name nor the fact that she really had used an icy voice this time caused either of her sisters to so much as blink.

“He braided your hair?”

“He touched your head?”

“He threaded his large, nimble fingers through your supple strands?”

“And more to the point, you let him?”

Lila was having a difficult time determining which of her sisters was worse, but she was leaning toward Dawn and her supple strands.