Two Sisters: A Novel by Mary Hogan Read Free Book Online Page A

answer. She spread out the thick wool blanket that she’d packed along with lunch and opened the picnic basket with her slender expert fingers. Quickly, Owen darted around the perimeter of the tower to make sure they were indeed alone. They were. A fact that both relieved and unnerved him. Upon his return, Lidia—settled on the ground with her legs tucked petitely beneath her coat—handed Owen a corkscrew and a bottle of Polish wine. “You like red, right? It’s what you brought to my party.”
    So flattered that she’d noticed he hadn’t arrived at her home empty-handed, Owen missed the natural window of opportunity to tell her he never drank at lunch. Wine made him sleepy and he had a meeting that very afternoon with a new client who didn’t fully trust his competence yet. The cork let go with a pop and he shakily poured two glasses.
    “ Na zdrowie !” Lidia said, raising one arm in a “Hail, Caesar!” kind of way. Owen stared, blank faced. “It’s Polish for “Cheers,” she said.
    “You’re Polish?”
    Admittedly, it came out wrong. Too much emphasis on the latter word, as if there was something distasteful about it. He’d meant to marvel at his own stupidity for wondering where the name Czerwinski came from when she’d introduced herself in the movie line. At the time he thought she said, “Zerwinky,” and it seemed some sort of circus moniker.
    With her lovely lips curled in only the slightest hint of a sneer, Lidia said, “My family is American, of course.”
    “Of course. I’m sorry. Oh geez. I didn’t mean—”
    “Babka?”
    Holding a braided loaf of golden brown bread in the air like it was the infant son of Christ, Lidia said, “Fair warning. It’s addictive.”
    Just like that, she was back to her seductive self.
    They drank and ate and fell into conversation. An oniony aroma of homemade meat loaf rose into the chilly air and intertwined with the yeasty smell of fresh bread. “My family owns the bakery in Pawtucket,” Lidia said. Owen took the mouthful Lidia handed him. Amazingly, the bread was still warm. Almost as sweet and fluffy as cotton candy. He took another bite and felt it travel through his chest. When they clinked glasses he said, “Here’s mud in your eye,” desperate to avoid a repeat of the “Cheers” incident. To himself he thought, What an oaf. When Lidia fluttered her eyelashes and replied, “I’d hate to see mud in those gorgeous green eyes of yours,” Owen nearly burst into tears he was so thankful.
    Really, he never stood a chance. Lidia Czerwinski was not the kind of woman a man like Owen Sullivant could refuse. Certainly not when she so clearly had him eating out of her hand.

Chapter 7
    O WEN HAD BEEN the perfect gentleman. That first date in November, when he returned to work with Polish cabernet on his breath, he stoically endured Conrad’s chiding.
    “What’d you have for dessert , O-ween?”
    All he said was, “Has the temp put on a fresh pot of coffee?”
    The following week, flushed and wrinkled from another alfresco lunch, Conrad demanded details. Owen simply said, “Get lost.”
    “Lost in her hair ,” said Conrad, the moron that he was. With a hint of condescension Owen wondered if perhaps Conrad never did attend keg parties in the quad. Quite possibly he was a virgin and would be thus until the day he died. Certainly a woman of quality would find fault with those horsey teeth. Owen took to patting Conrad’s shoulder sympathetically when they passed each other near the water cooler.
    Of course, Owen had a larger problem than his idiot coworker. Madalyn. As his relationship with Lidia deepened, his weekly date night with big-haired Madalyn freighted him with guilt. Not that she noticed. As thick as a two-by-four, Madalyn mistook Owen’s sexual invigoration as a step closer to the wedding she’d been planning since third grade. Good heavens, just last weekend she’d hinted at a joint vacation in Florida after Rhode Island’s winter