Smoky. Lauren loved the scent; it reminded her of when she was a little girl and Altimus would take her and Sydney into his library and light a fire in the mammoth brick-and-granite structure and let the girls curl up in his huge leather chairs. If Sydney got her way, he’d read book after book after book. But on the days Lauren had his ear, Altimus would let her talk him into taking them out into their expansive backyard to count the stars peeking through the trees. They looked the best on nights like this, when the colorful leaves dropped like rain on manicured lawns, creating wide gaps of midnight-blue sky between the branches. That’s when folks turned to their fireplaces for that warmth, that comfort—that Atlanta winter smell. But tonight, not even her favorite scent could make Lauren feel comfortable. The mess with Sydney, the dinner blowup, the e-mail about her and Dara—all of that had Lauren off-kilter, and there was only one person she could think of to set her right, only one person who wasn’t in the middle of all the drama: Jermaine.
