“Ah …” I touched it on my waist. “Yes.”

“Good. Go,” she said as she turned and walked away. “Before I do something stupid like give you a hug.”

Depressed and unsure, I headed out. David was behind me, his pace silent but his presence obvious by the faint scent of fern. “Sunglasses,” he murmured when I reached for the door handle, and I paused to put them on. I pushed the door open, squinting from the late sun as I picked my way through the sympathy offerings ranging from professional flower arrangements to crayon-bright pages torn from coloring books. It was cold, the crisp air refreshing.

The sound of Kisten’s car pulled my head up, and my pulse jackhammered. I froze on the steps and David almost ran into me. His foot bumped a squat vase, and it rolled down the steps to the sidewalk, spilling water and the single budded red rose it held.

“Someone you know?” he asked, his breath warm on my ear.

“It’s Kisten.” I watched him park and get out. God, he looked good, all trim and sexy.

David’s hand went onto my elbow, pushing me into motion. “Keep going. Don’t say anything. I want to see how your disguise holds up. My car is across the street.”

Liking the idea, I continued down the stairs, stopping only to pick up the vase and set it on the lowest stair. It was actually a jelly-jar glass, with a pentagram of protection on it, and I made a soft sound of recognition as I tucked the red rose back into it and straightened. I hadn’t seen one of those in years.

I felt a flutter in my stomach when Kisten’s steps grew loud.

“Bless you,” he said as he passed me, thinking I had put the flower there, not just picked it up. I opened my mouth to say something, closing it as David pinched my arm.

“Ivy!” Kisten shouted, hammering on the door. “Let’s go! We’re going to be late!”

David escorted me across the street and to the other side of his car, his hand firmly under my elbow—it was slick, and the heels I had on weren’t made for ice. “Very nice,” he said, sounding begrudgingly impressed. “But it’s not as if you’ve slept with him.”

“Actually,” I said as he opened the door for me, “I have.”

His eyes jerked to mine and a shocked look of revulsion crossed him. From inside the church came a faint, “You’re fucking kidding! That was her? No fucking way!”

I pushed my fingers into my forehead. At least he didn’t swear like that when I was around. My eyes went to David, the width of the door between us. “It’s the species thing, isn’t it?” I said flatly.

He said nothing. Jaw clenched, I told myself that he could think what he wanted. I didn’t have to live up to his standards. Lots of people didn’t like it. Lots of people didn’t give a flip. Who I slept with should have nothing to do with our professional relationship.