I snorted. “So it would be me doing you a favor? Nice try.” I rolled my eyes. “No. And I wouldn’t think that, I was just mad when I called you last night.”
“I wanted to do something for you. I don’t know why, I just did. Maybe it was that for a second I got really excited about the project, and I had the means to get it done, so I did it. Or maybe it was that I was looking forward to seeing your face when something you had wanted to get done for so long was finally achieved.”
This was quite persuasive, I had to admit.
“Or maybe it was because I imagined that when I saw your face light up, I wanted it to be me who made it happen.”
Damn, this guy was good.
“No,” I said again, but I sounded as shaken as I felt. I hadn’t realized flooring could be so romantic. “I should have told you my face lights up over a bag of Lindor truffles. You could have saved yourself a fortune.”
He got a wicked gleam in his eye and his lips descended to mine. “I did say I was going to persuade you.”
T W E N T Y – F I V E
The rain had broken the stifling humidity, and while it was still warm, it was finally that perfect time of year. The time anyone who lives in the South dreams about all summer long with its bright sun and long shadows and a slight chill in the breeze.
Jack and I, despite his persuasive kisses this morning, had reached an impasse on the floors. There was still no furniture and book club was at my house. Consequently, our meeting would be happening outside on the porch.
I dropped Jack back at the beach house to read through a bunch of scripts Katie had sent him before heading to work myself. I wasn’t there two minutes before Hector broke out in an operatic voice with ‘O Mio Babino Caro’ in the kitchen. I guess the flush in my cheeks and the ridiculous need to smile while asking about saltshakers and mustard had given me away. I rolled my eyes at him and tried hard to pull myself together.
By the time book club rolled round, I was a little calmer. Although my stomach did clench as I walked past the living room where the blanket was folded neatly by the fireplace.
Mrs. Weaton came through my back door fifteen minutes early bearing a huge basket of lemon squares and asked me to help her with the ice tea she’d made. We trotted back across the yard.
“So dear, he’s a dreamy one, isn’t he? And so charming,” she sighed with a soft smile.
I laughed. “Yes he is, Mrs. Weaton, yes he is. Now you know you can’t tell anyone, right?”
“I know, dear. And far be it for me to offer opinions, I was quite the little go-er in my day, but you best guard your heart, honey. And you know ... that whole secrecy thing can make for a much more intense time than normal.”
Go-er? I shook my head. Did that mean popular or slutty? I focused on the heart stuff.
“I’m trying Mrs. Weaton. To guard my heart,” I clarified. “But, just in case I fail, can you make sure and stock up on the lemon squares and maybe that chocolate caramel pudding with the sea salt?”
“Sure will, honey.” She patted me on the arm. In the same moment, we heard the roar of a motorcycle going down the street on the other side of the house. She noticed my attention and raised her penciled-in eyebrows.
I shrugged. “He rides a bike, did he tell you that?”
She shook her head and sighed again. “As I said, dreamy. Let’s hope he doesn’t put on a tool belt. Then it’s all over.”
I sputtered. She just grinned.
I headed back up the steps, still laughing and held open the screen door for my aged companion. Jazz’s car pulled up and disgorged her, Faith, and Liz.
“Who’s minding the shop, Faith?” I asked with a smile, admiring, as I always did, the way she could pull off her elegant platinum hair and ruby red lips.
“I closed up early, there’s hardly anyone around at the moment. And anyway, I made a huge sale today.”
“You did? That’s great.”
Faith’s store was an eclectic, but super elegant mix of designer furnishings and one of a kind pieces—as well as jewelry she designed herself and accessories she saw here and there and couldn’t pass up. She always joked it was the ‘buy high’ addiction for her and it was a good thing she had a shop to resell stuff in, or she’d be on an episode of Hoarders. We would roll our eyes when she said this, as her home and her store were as far away from impulsive and chaotic as one could get. I loved to go hang out there with Jazz just to sit in the serene, awesome candle-smelling-chic-ness.
I looked back and forth between Jazz and Faith, who seemed to be having an entire silent conversation. “What?”
“Well,” said Jazz. “Please don’t kill me ... ” She affected a fake sheepish look that told me she really didn’t give a hoot if I liked what she was about to say or not.
“Oh, man. What Jazz?”