Lila sat perfectly still, striving to think of a way to slide her entire body under the table without anyone being the wiser. It wasn’t the most elegant way to go about things, but her only other option was to fake a fire and run screaming out the emergency exit doors.

She was debating the merits of just such an approach when a white knight came to her rescue. Two of them, actually. Her sisters might be pushy and interfering and giddily romantic, but they were also unquestionably on her side.

“What do you want, Patrick?” Dawn asked without bothering to hide her grimace.

His eyes opened in mild surprise. “To see your sister, of course. I happened to be walking past and—”

Dawn had never been one to swallow lies. “Oh, please. You know we eat here several times a week. What are the chances our waitress will confirm that you’ve been by every day in hope of coincidentally running across us?”

“Intelligent as well as beautiful.” Patrick put his hand over his heart. “Why did I ever think I stood a chance?”

“Because the only thing bigger than your pride is your ego.” Sophie scooted to the far end of her booth seat to preclude him sitting down next to her. “Can we help you with something?”

Love for her two siblings went a long way in lifting Lila’s spirits. Even though they didn’t know all the details of her relationship with Patrick, they were all too aware that things hadn’t ended well between them.

As if he, too, was remembering the discord of their last parting, Patrick reached out and touched one of the locks of hair that had slipped out of Ford’s inexpert braid.

“Hey, Lil,” he said, his voice low with familiarity. “I like this new look. It suits you.”

No, it didn’t. She looked ridiculous, as her sisters had already pointed out, but there hadn’t been time to fix it before she’d rushed over here to meet them. Punctuality was more important than aesthetics, no matter how much it pained her to present anything but her pristine best.

Ford had pointed it out, too, laughing apologetically as she’d beaten a hasty retreat. “You came to us looking like a princess and are leaving looking like something the puppy choked up,” he’d said, and then had smiled so warmly that it had been impossible to take offense.

Besides, taking offense was right up there with admitting how much she’d enjoyed the sensation of his fingers running through her hair. She felt nothing for Ford except cool, professional disinterest, dammit, and no one could accuse her otherwise.

Patrick Yarmouth, however…