Secrets of the Apple Read Online Free Page B

tomorrow?”
    Kate dropped her fork, flinching when it clattered onto the china plate. For a rare instant her face was wide open and Ryoki could almost see her reaching for a dentist appointment or a major surgery before her expression closed up. “Tomorrow would be good, if you’re free,” she said, looking hard at Ryoki, giving him an out.
    He could have easily worked through Saturday and Sunday too, had actually intended to, but he was acutely aware that he hadn’t shown Brian’s niece proper respect and he seriously needed to make it up. Besides, that morning he’d awakened for the third time with his keyboard waffled across his cheek. Eventually the drool was going to make the keys stick.  Suddenly spending a few hours with a pretty girl, even an off-limits one, felt like too great a temptation. “That works,” he said. “Ten, maybe?”
    “I’ll pick you up,” she said. Ryoki pursed his lips, tried to form a tactful response. He preferred to drive, loved it when he had the time. On the off-chance he could squeeze in the opportunity, he’d rented a sporty little BMW coupe just for the sheer pleasure of speeding through the Northern California hills. That coupe would be reason enough. But there was also that other element, the one you weren’t supposed to mention in the U.S.
    He thought of all the little old ladies with their shrunken heads and teased hair barely poking over the steering wheel as they chauffeured their aged husbands around town. I’m the man. The man is supposed to drive.
    He opened his mouth to offer his own car, but she had already turned to talk to Tom, whose enthusiasm for Napa Valley burbled large right up until the plates were cleared and Ryoki had missed his chance. Kate invited Tom and Claire, twice, nearly wheedling the second invitation, but sadly they were returning to L.A. early in the morning and couldn’t be delayed.
    A little after eight everyone adjourned to the large family room, preferring big leather chairs and comfy sofas to the arch formality of the living room. They had just gotten settled when a low rumble radiated from the depths of the cavernous house. At first Ryoki thought they must have an entire kindergarten in full stampede, complete with clouds of dust and get along little doggies. Instead two children appeared, a girl and a boy, Hannah and Jack, four and three respectively. A month ago Tom had emailed Ryoki a photo of his children at Disneyland, yanking Goofy’s ears while two desperate security people tried to drag them away without traumatizing anyone.
    “He was jumping on me and kicking me and biting me and pulling my hair—”
    “I didn’t bite,” Jack said flatly.
    A harried-looking teenager came running up from behind, clutching a plastic sword that hummed and lit up blue as she handed it to Jack, who made a face at his sister. “I towd you you can’t hide it fowevoe.”
    The babysitter had what looked like grape juice on her white sweater and the twist in her hair had tipped precariously to one side, giving the overall impression that she might fall over if she strayed too far from the wall. “I’m sorry,” she said. “They really wanted to say goodnight.”
    Tossing her blonde curls, Hannah looked like a magazine angel, but no one who knew her was taken in. All business, she marched to the center of the room, carrying a stack of books, a hairbrush and a few ribbons. Her dark-haired little brother followed behind, wearing a horned Viking helmet, holding a sword in his left hand and carefully balancing a green frog cup in his right. Jack looked at Ryoki very seriously. “If I spilw, I have to stay in da kitchen,” he said, gently placing his cup on an elaborate inlaid chess table over which Ryoki and Tom had spent many happy hours locked in mortal combat. Claire hurried to move it to a more suitable location as both kids commenced chanting, “Story! Story! Story!”
    Such perfect unison did not come without practice.
    Claire went toward