Sera perched gingerly on the edge of the coffee table around which the BRBs had gathered. Beads of sweat formed at her temples as she pictured Asher overhearing the Babes’ raunchy conversation. Things between them were so new, so extraordinary, she didn’t want to sully her memories of their time together with graphic girl-talk. “Guys, thanks for the vote of confidence, but, um, I’d really rather not go into our private business…”

She clapped her hands over her ears against the wave of boos and hisses that washed over her.

“All right, all right! Listen up, ladies,” Pauline hollered, waving a chocolate éclair like a conductor’s baton for silence. “Much as I regret my niece’s continuing reticence in all matters carnal, I didn’t call you over here to congratulate her on her initiation into the Big-O Society. Fact is, women, we are at war, and we must gird our loins for battle!” She bit off half the éclair in one ferocious bite. “Bls’s brstid e-byfred’s oofer bld, ah we gorra schtup ’m.”

Blank looks met her pronouncement.

Hortencia harrumphed, tossing a look of mild disgust at her partner. “What this glutton over here’s trying to say is, Sera’s rotten ex-boyfriend is in town, and he’s trying to ruin her life—and not for the first time. We’ve got to figure out how to stop him before he succeeds.”

Pauline swallowed the bite of gooshy pastry, choking a bit. “Right. What Horsey said.”

Sera handed her aunt a glass of water, addressing the ladies en masse. “It’s true,” she said glumly. “Blake’s back, and he’s up to his old tricks.” She explained, in as few words as possible, what Blake had done a year ago, and what he was up to now. “Anyhow,” she finished, “he’s here in Santa Fe and he’s already started the smear campaign.” She handed around a copy of the Chile Paper’s article. “So, if you guys have any ideas about what I should do, I’d love to hear them.”

There was a silence as the four women who were new to the situation huddled close to one another to read. Hortencia and Pauline sat back, waiting for them to finish, while Sera rubbed her temples, where a headache was starting to set in. Asher was coming to pick her up in a little while, and she just wanted to forget what had happened with Blake last week and enjoy her lover’s company. Yet she knew she couldn’t let Blake’s perfidy gain momentum—the longer she let it lie, the more time he had to prepare his next salvo. She needed help, and the Back Room Babes were her greatest allies. They had deep roots in the community. They knew people; owned businesses, some of them. Hopefully, they’d be able to come up with some creative solutions to counteract Blake’s slurs before they could cut into Sera’s business.

Or if it comes to that, there’s enough of us to tackle him in a dark alley, Sera thought darkly. Wonder if they’d be game for a little skullduggery?

It didn’t take long for the BRBs to show how “game” they were.

With claws extended, they tore the tabloid to shreds.

“What a dick!” Aruni was incensed.

“I’ll let my pet rat Rudy loose in his restaurant,” Janice vowed.

“Let’s stage a protest outside and let everyone know what a bully he is,” Syna suggested. “I’ve still got a set of bongos left from the Occupy protests.”

“String him up by the balls, is my vote,” Pauline growled. “I’ve got the twine all ready. The scratchy twine.”

“I’ve told you a hundred times, Pauline, barbed wire’s much better in cases like these,” Hortencia argued as she fastidiously gathered up the shreds of newspaper. “Really gets caught in the—”

A sharp, Gollum-like cough rattled the shop’s windows, announcing the arrival of Ms. Marnie Pyle.

Six hours late, and less than excited to be there, if her expression was anything to go by. The reporter lethargically fished her notepad and digital recorder out of her messenger bag as she eased the front door shut behind her with one foot.

That woman needs an enthusiasm transplant, STAT. “Guys, this is Marnie Pyle,” Sera said formally. “Since she wrote the, ah, profile on Blake’s new restaurant, as well as the original article on Bliss, we asked her to come over so we could address some of the issues Blake raised in his quotes.” Like how he basically called me a frigid hack who wasn’t qualified to serve snack cakes at a supermarket, let alone run my beautiful Bliss. “Marnie, thanks for coming. We expected you a bit earlier, or I would have had my friends come by another time.” Sera rose to shake the woman’s hand, trying not to shudder at the dead-fishiness of her grip.

“Good lord, what’s wrong with her head?” Syna whispered to Aruni as she gawked at the skeletal newcomer. “It looks like one of my son’s Lego action figures!”

Aruni shushed her, smothering a grin.

The reporter barely acknowledged the other women. “Sorry,” Marnie muttered, retrieving her hand as though Sera’s were crawling with cooties. “I was hoping to catch you after hours. I didn’t realize you’d have company.”

“We weren’t sure you’d make it,” Sera replied neutrally, “so we decided to go ahead and have our get-together.”

“I can come back another time,” Marnie offered. Plainly, the prospect pained her.

“Please stay,” Hortencia interjected, switching on the apple-cheeked charm. She turned to the BRBs, who were giving Marnie slitty-eyed stares. “Let’s make Miss Pyle welcome, shall we? She’s here to set the record straight about Blake’s recent remarks,” Hortencia reminded the women pointedly. “Isn’t that right?” Now her gaze skewered the reporter.

Marnie cleared her perpetually clogged throat. “Well,” she demurred, “I’ll take Miss Wilde’s statement anyhow. I can’t promise we’ll publish anything. We’ve got very limited space each week, and we have to save it for original stories. If anything, Miss Wilde’s rebuttal might make a sidebar in the food section, but we’ll see.”

Janice’s waitressing instincts kicked in. “Miz Pyle, take my seat, why don’cha,” she said, hopping up and dusting off her chair for the reporter. “I’ll just cop a squat over here.” She plunked her butt down on an ottoman a little out of the circle of women. “Unless… Serafina, you want us gals to leave so y’all can have your interview?”

Pauline answered for her. “Women, you’re staying. I want Miss Pyle here to understand what my niece is up against, and to hear—in front of witnesses—just how she’s been slandered.”

“Libeled,” muttered the reporter. “Nobody ever gets that. It’s libel when it’s in print—not that that’s what the Chile Paper did. We just quoted the chef’s remarks,” she grumbled. “We’re not responsible for their content.”

With another dry cough, Marnie took the seat Janice had vacated and pulled out her digital recorder and pad. Aruni made way for Sera to sit across from the reporter, strolling with studied innocence to stand near where Friedrich had started bussing tables at the rear of the store. She struck a stretchy yoga pose that just happened to show off her lithe figure to good advantage, smiling sidelong at the barista until he blushed and busied himself with a tub of dirty cups and plates. On Sera’s left, Hortencia patted her knee comfortingly, while Pauline, on her right, chucked her on the shoulder, muttering, “Go get’r, Tiger!” far too loudly in Sera’s ear.

“So,” Marnie said. “You wanted to respond to Chef Austin’s comments, Miss Wilde?”

Shit. What am I gonna say, “Blake’s a big fat liar, waaah?” While that pretty much covered it, Sera didn’t think Lego-head would be any too impressed with the “he pushed me on the playground” defense. She should have been planning her rebuttal to Blake’s slander—excuse her, libel—all weekend, but she’d been a tad distracted by the man she’d fallen crazy in love with. Now was her chance to fight back, and she’d better grab it, prepared or not. Put on your big-girl panties, Serafina, she commanded herself. Say something dignified.

Sera cleared her throat. “Well, yes, I—”

“Hello, ladies,” called a voice from the front of the shop. “Hello, Friedrich.”

All heads turned. Chins rose, bellies sucked themselves in, and hairdos found themselves fluffed.

“Asher!” cried the women.

“Yo, Ash,” Friedrich mumbled, deigning to remove his ear buds and give the taller man a shy smile. There was a definite hint of hero worship in the kid’s expression.

Sera couldn’t blame him. Her heart was suddenly beating a whole lot faster, and a goofy grin spread itself across her face without asking permission. She waved shyly.

Asher strolled over and the BRBs parted, Red Sea–style. He made himself at home on the arm of Sera’s overstuffed chair, stroking her cheek with a fond finger and gifting her with a smile that made her lungs forget how to do their job. In his eyes, Sera could see memories of the weekend they’d shared… and the promise of more pleasure to come.

“Hey, Ash,” she said, voice huskier than normal. “You know all the BRBs, right?” At his nod, she continued with the introductions. “And this is Marnie Pyle, a journalist from the Chile Paper.”

“Pleased to meet you, Ms. Pyle,” Asher said politely, though his eyes never left Sera. His clever fingers began tracing the length of Sera’s arm from wrist to elbow. Sera shivered happily, his caress momentarily hypnotizing her into a pleasure daze.

A sharp cough jolted Sera out of her reverie.

Oh, right. Introductions are supposed to go both ways. But should I introduce him as my landlord, or… Sera decided to keep things simple. “Marnie, this is Asher Wolf.”

“You’re Miss Wilde’s boyfriend?” Marnie asked, displaying the first honest interest she’d shown since she walked in the door. The wide-jowled journalist eyed the tall Israeli speculatively. A bit too speculatively.

Her taste buds might be dead, but her libido’s still kickin’. Sera winced, silently cursing the reporter’s question. Men hated labels. Labels made them squirm and twitch—and sometimes run for the hills. Asher wasn’t a runner—by now Sera knew that much—but despite three unforgettable evenings of romantic dates and nights of passionate lovemaking, they’d yet to have the dreaded, “let’s define our relationship” talk. Sera held her breath, blanking on ways to head disaster off at the pass.

But Asher appeared unfazed.

“Yes, I am,” he said cheerfully. “Or at least, I’m working toward it.” He gave the nape of Sera’s neck a kiss that managed to be both gentle and wildly stirring. The BRBs sighed. Sera turned pink as a Valentine’s Day Peep, feeling a rush ten times headier than sugar flood her system.

Lego-head fiddled with her digital recorder, pointing it toward Asher. “Interesting,” she grunted. “So, as Miss Wilde’s significant other, what’s your reaction to the comments made recently by Chef Austin?”

“Comments?” Asher looked puzzled, glancing down at Sera for an explanation. She tried not to squirm. Maybe I should have told him. But I just couldn’t bear to drag him into this. It’s so ugly, and it shouldn’t have to be his fight. “Bliss, what is she talking about? What has that man said to you?”

“It’s not what he said to Sera, studly, it’s what he said to the world,” Pauline huffed before Sera could begin to explain. “That rat slandered my Baby-Bliss to this”—she glared at the reporter before seeming to recall that alienating her would be a poor idea—“to this fine journalist here. Half the town probably read what she printed. We’re trying to set the record straight.”

At her side, Sera could feel Asher stiffen. “What exactly did Mr. Austin say about Serafina?” he asked very quietly.

The BRBs looked at one another, then at Sera, uncomfortable.

Marnie’s eyes lit at the prospect of conflict. She emitted a teeny smile. “Miss Wilde hasn’t shown you the article? Interesting. Well, I have a copy here in my bag.” She dug in her messenger tote for the latest issue of the Chile Paper. She handed it to Asher, who received the newspaper as though it had been marinating in a storm gutter for a week. “Here, take a look.”

Asher took a look.

With each paragraph his eyes scanned, his expression turned stonier. Sera found herself wanting to comfort him, though it was she who’d been maligned. Now he’s really finding out what he’s gotten himself into with me, she thought, feeling sick. Damn Blake to hell. If he ruins this, too, I’ll gut him and make a fricassee out of his kidneys.