Cass had scored well: ten out of ten on the Bitchter Scale. But Narelle wasn’t going to show how much she was hurting. She pasted on a smile, pulled open the top drawer and grabbed handfuls of cutlery.
The corners of her mouth slipped when the front door banged. Cass had stomped upstairs, so it had to be Matt.
She muttered, ‘Awesomeness.’
‘Relle?’
He hadn’t called her that in ages. She ignored him.
Matt’s voice was closer when he said, ‘Could we stretch dinner to one more? I’ve brought a friend for you to meet.’
She nearly lost it. Nearly screamed at him that he wasn’t welcome, let alone any friend. But then Narelle glimpsed the woman behind Matt, as he said, ‘Relle, this is Annie.’
Annie. In her kitchen. But not the young, sexy version Narelle had envisaged. The real Annie wore her
