“Now, if you spelled ‘fablous’ with a ‘ph’ instead, it would mirror ‘phablet’ and make more sense. And you should capitalize ‘Phablous.’ An even better mirror.”
“But wouldn’t that be too hard for people to read?” He plucked the pen from her hand and wrote out his slogan with the new spelling: “The Phablet. It’s Phablous.”
Bailey chewed her bottom lip while she considered the altered spelling. She grabbed another pen and underlined the “Phab” in each word.
“But see how clever that is? The letters are the same at the beginnings of each word. A mirror. Look how sharp and clean that appears on the page. Two words per fragment. Same number of syllables. The ‘P’ capitalized in both words. Visually, it’s perfect.” And then she added softly, “Stunning, really.”
He turned in her direction and watched her stare at the page.
“It’s so clever. So funny. Who wouldn’t get it?” she asked.
“You’d be surprised,” he muttered.
“Well, maybe this can be a smart campaign for smart people,” she suggested.
He chuckled. “The goal is to advertise to the largest number of people possible: smart and dumb.”
“Makes sense,” Bailey said.
Reece grunted. “I’ll show this to the team. See what they think. I like your suggestion. A lot, really.”
“Thanks,” she replied.
He really didn’t have any other reason to stay and chat, and he knew she had work to do, but he wasn’t ready to leave her quite yet.
“Hey, don’t you use Track Changes to proofread?” he asked.
“Sometimes,” she replied. “Dan knows I’m old school, so he lets me get away with printing smaller documents to proofread with these—” She held up her hand “—as long as I’m not doing it all the time.”
“Hands-on gal,” Reece noted.
“I’m better at catching things on the pages then on a computer screen,” she replied. “I bet that sounds weird, huh?”
“Makes total sense to me,” Reece said, though he really had no idea what she was talking about.
They grew quiet. Reece opened his mouth to say “goodbye” when she spoke.
“So how do you like it here?”
“Oh, I like it a lot. This firm has a really good vibe. Really creative people.”
“Are you new to Wilmington, too?”
“Yep. A few weeks in.”
“I’m sure Christopher has plans to show you around town,” Bailey said.
“He’s got a schedule,” Reece replied.
She listened as he expounded on Christopher’s plans for the two of them this weekend all the while she studied his every feature. He had soft brown hair that was slightly wavy—like the Atlantic on a calm, still day. She imagined her fingers in it, learning its texture and temperament. Hair certainly had its own temperament, and she knew this from her own, particularly the two cowlicks on either side of her head where she swore horns used to grow.
His eyes were green. She wasn’t sure what she thought of people with green eyes. The only ones she’d ever come across were either filled with greed or malice. But nothing about Reece’s demeanor suggested either. His just sparkled like he was up to no good—harmless tricks—and she could handle that.
He had high cheekbones and cheeks that sported stubble. He trimmed his neck, though. Perhaps he was growing a beard, she thought, and she pictured his face with a full, short beard, deciding it would look handsome and rugged.
“Have you been there?”
“Huh?” she asked.
He smirked. “Front Street Brewery.”
“Oh sure. Order the beer sampler when you go,” she suggested.
“I will.” He jabbed a thumb behind him. “I better go. I’ve taken up way too much of your time.”
Her heart sank the tiniest bit.
“It’s no problem,” Bailey replied.
“Thanks for the spelling suggestion,” Reece said, and then he paused. “I’ll see you around, Bailey.”
“Bye, Reece.”
***
“I think I may have a mild crush on someone in my office,” I confessed to Erica as we climbed into the back of the cab. “And I’ve only had one conversation with him. How ridiculous am I?”
We were on our way downtown, ready to pretend we were college students for the night. Our girls’ beach trip was the only time we ventured downtown to the dance clubs. All other times we’d go for dinner or to check out the antique stores.
This was our fifth annual trip. We started the year before Erica had Little Noah, and we headed to Miami for that one. I won’t reveal the details of that trip because half of it I can’t remember, and the other half is way too embarrassing. Once the kids came, we stayed close to home. We still booked a room on the beach to feel like we were getting away, but I couldn’t pretend my house wasn’t fifteen minutes from the water. Erica promised that when her children got a little older, we’d stop girls’ tripping it in Wilmington.
“Oh, really?” she asked, fixing her garish gold earring.
“Well, he’s cute. And personable,” I said. “His name’s Reece.”
“Like the candy?” she asked.
I rolled my eyes. “I can’t believe I said that, too.”
“To him?” she asked, laughing, then muttered, “Sounds like something you’d do.”
“Hey now!”
Erica patted my knee. “You know you can’t date your coworker.”
“I know.”
“You can, however, date one of the many cute college boys we’re about to meet,” she said.
I grunted. “I’ve no desire to date a man ten years younger than I am.”
“Okay. Let me rephrase that: You can sleep with one of the many cute college boys we’re about to meet.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because they’re ten years younger than I am,” I explained. I twisted a strand of hair around my finger and looked out the window.
“We’re just talking sex here, Bailey. We’re not talking about commitment. I know 21-year-old men are stupid. But they can make fun boy toys.”
“Gross. Will you just stop?” I glanced at the cab driver who ignored us.
“How long has it been?” Erica asked softly.
“What?”
“You know . . .” She gave me that look. The raised brows. The pity. The fearful anticipation of a really embarrassing answer.
“I’m not telling you. I don’t need your judgment,” I said.