Julia wiped a hand across her face and stared down at her plate. “Wait a minute,” she mumbled, picking up her fork and prodding the pastry crust. A smile dawned. “This is Sally’s pie.”

“Aw, you’re right.” Andie chuckled, pulling her plate closer. “That’s a clever touch.”

“Who’s Sally?” Curt wondered.

“From When Harry Met Sally,” Andie explained. “Sally orders an—”

The other two girls chimed in and together all three recited, “‘Apple pie, heated, with strawberry ice cream on the side.’”

Luke felt a burst of pride for his sister, recalling how Penelope had insisted that this should be the dessert at the first night’s meal. He knew she’d be delighted to hear how quickly the players had made the connection.

“Oh, yeah?” Curt poked at his plate.

Well, not all the players. Luke’s happy balloon deflated a little. One more, Oh, yeah and he might not be able to resist stuffing that Packer’s jersey in Curt’s pie hole.

Oblivious to the violence being contemplated against him, Curt continued to poke at his ice cream. “I was wondering why it was strawberry instead of vanilla. Who ever heard of serving apple pie with strawberry ice cream instead of vanilla? It’s weird.”

“That’s the point,” Andie gritted out.

If Curt didn’t watch it, Andie was going to be the one to do the jersey throat stuffing. Luke bet when he told his sister about the antics of these two, Penelope would declare it was an opposites-attract romance and only a matter of time before tension led to passion and they were falling in love.

He glanced at Julia, wondering what Pen would have to say about the two of them.

Not wanting to follow that train of thought too far, Luke focused on his pie. His sister wouldn’t have anything to say, because nothing was going to happen between him and Julia.

Nothing other than what had happened already.

Nothing other than what he wanted to happen.

Other than that, nothing at all.

CHAPTER 11

LUKE

Five a.m. arrived with the usual canine cacophony of yapping corgis parading past Luke’s door. Mrs. W. took them out for their morning constitutional at the same godawful time every morning. He hadn’t needed an alarm clock since he’d arrived at the resort.

He blinked and stared at the ceiling, waiting for the synapses in his brain to start firing. The mental fog seemed to take longer than usual to dissipate today. Not surprising. Last night, simultaneously riding the contact high of spending time with Julia and worrying about Zach messing things up with the reviewer, he hadn’t gotten much sleep.