Best Laid Plans

So much.

I like it so much I can’t jam all these feelings inside me. They’re bursting, jostling to break free. I sweep my gaze side to side, then whisper, “Yesterday, he pinned my arms above my head in an elevator. Pressed his body against mine. Bit my neck.”

She fans her face. “I’m getting hot just thinking about it. How was it?”

“One of the most intense things I’ve ever experienced. The other night I practiced dirty talk on the phone with him.”

“And?”

I fan my face this time.

“Sounds like the line between practice and performance is getting thinner.”

I draw a deep breath. “I know.”

“So you’re doing this, then? The whole apron thing?”

The idea still ignites me. “Yes.”

She exhales deeply, pushing all the air in the world from her lungs. “You’re a brave and bold woman.” She snags the apron from me and marches to the counter. “This one’s on me.”

A few minutes later, we meet Perri for lunch at a nearby diner. Over iced tea and salads, Vanessa fills her in on my apron purchase, and I repeat the elevator story.

I repeat it because . . . it feels good to say it. Because I like sharing it with them. Most of all, I love the way I relive it with a fresh rush of sensations over my skin. A brand-new wave of tingles. It’s like I’m having the moment again and again. And the moment feels good in so many ways—heart, mind, and body.

Perri reaches for her handcuffs and dangles them before me. “Here. Take these tonight. You’ll need them.”

A blush creeps across my cheeks. “I don’t think I’m ready for cuffs yet.”

She laughs. “They’re not for you. You better handcuff Gabe to the mailbox, or he’ll be all over you.”

Vanessa smacks palms with Perri.

“Please. I can handle it,” I say.

Vanessa arches a brow. “But can you? Can you handle it if he wants more than sex charades?”

My pulse quickens at the thought.

I raise my chin, playing it cool. “Of course. Just a few more days and we go back to the way we were.”

Perri takes a sip of her iced tea, looking thoroughly unconvinced. “You really think you can snap your fingers and go back to being pals who bowl and throw darts?”

“As long as we don’t cross any lines.” I have to believe this.

Perri gives me a sympathetic smile. “Sweetie, I don’t think it has to do with lines.”

“What does it have to do with?”

She taps her sternum. “This.”

I don’t want her to be right. Because this—my heart—is already fighting against my head.





31





Arden





When I devised the week-long plan, I figured that’d be all I’d need to shore up my skills.

Or, really, to develop the skills, but as I glance at the clock in the store that afternoon, I’m keenly aware that we have only a few days left to knock out the rest of my list.

Theoretically, we could go on indefinitely, but that’s not fair to him, or me. The longer this goes on, the harder it will be to separate heart and head.

Besides, the whole point of this research project is so I have the skills for the next time a handsome man strides into my store and asks me out.

Or the next time I decide to ask a man out.

That’s what I should be focused on—my newfound confidence. Not whether my best guy friend would slide out of the friend zone and into the romance zone with me.

Because . . . THAT WON’T HAPPEN.

Right now, though, the person coming into my store isn’t a potential date, but the next meeting of one group of book club ladies. Miriam wanders in first, saying hello, followed by CarolAnn, Sara, and Allison.

They settle in, discussing a new book this time—Nora Roberts’s Year One, an apocalyptic journey through a ravaged United States in the aftermath of a virus.

“Think about all the skills you would need at the end of the world,” Sara says in her husky voice, peering at her crew over her cat-eye glasses as I reorganize the shelves.

Allison, of the nipple clamps, chimes in. “Exactly. What happens to me in an apocalypse? I'm a painter. It’s not as if there’s going to be any need for painters."

Miriam chuckles. "It makes you realize the value of experience. You actually have to get out and do things. Try things."

I slide some new travel books into the section on Denmark, battling Henry, who seems to think Copenhagen belongs next to Buenos Aires. He paws at Ten Things to Do in Denmark, and I gently remind him to keep his mitts in his own business. “Entirely wrong hemisphere,” I tell the cat as Sara weighs in on this new world order.

“I’d have to learn all the things I don't know. I couldn't fake my way through it,” she says. “I’d have to figure out how to fish. Learn how to catch my dinner in the river."

Miriam glances up and meets my eyes. “Arden, what do you think?”

I point to Sara. “I’m sticking with her in this scenario. Since I’ve no clue how to fish, and she seems determined to find dinner.”

Miriam laughs. “See? Brains matter. Arden has a plan. Glom onto the fisherwoman.”

“Clearly, there won’t be a great need for bookstores or book clubs, but if you ladies are the survivors, I can also cook the fish for our little community,” I offer.

Allison cracks up. “I like that approach. You have to be willing to roll up your sleeves and try all sorts of new things."

CarolAnn stares at Allison with curious eyes. “‘Try new things’ is your mantra.”

Allison smiles like she has a secret. “I do like trying new things.”

CarolAnn makes a rolling gesture with her hands as if to say serve up the goods. “Is this the moment you tell us about how you learned some crazy new position in bed, like you were telling us the other week when you tried the wheelbarrow?”

Miriam slaps her linen-clad thigh, and the book club ladies all slide back into their bawdy style, talking about what they’d do to pass the time at the end of the world. “Allison will be busy trying new things then,” Miriam says.