I'd forgotten all about my supposed enemy by the time I reached work. Too many honeyed memories crowded out the worry. I didn't even care that I was an hour and a half late; my very joints felt oiled with pleasure.
Regrettably, the scene that greeted me broke the mood.
I found Marianne berating Keith, our foot-fond assistant, for mis-shelving some books.
'How many times do I have to tell you? The big names go cover out.'
'But I didn't know.' Keith's face was pink. He gripped the sales counter as though it were his only shield. Perhaps it was. He might be six foot something and a competitive rower, but he was a nice boy, the kind who would never hit a woman, no matter what. Unfortunately for him, Marianne looked ready to vault over the counter and claw him - leather miniskirt and all.
'How could you not know?' she demanded, her voice loud enough to turn customers' heads. 'Nora Roberts is one of the biggest names there is.'
'Marianne,' I said, using the tone I reserved for misbehaving children and dogs. It wasn't nice, but it worked. She spun around to face me, frustration written in every line of her pale, skillfully powdered face.
'But he -'
I pointed towards the office. 'In private, Marianne. I'll join you in two minutes.' I turned to Keith, who fiddled with the cash drawer. Apparently, my intervention embarrassed him as much as Marianne's attack.
'Probably just PMS,' he mumbled.
'I don't care if it's a brain tumour. She has no right to snap your head off. You're our most reliable employee. In fact, I plan to promote you to day manager at the end of the month - assuming the hours fit your class schedule.'
Keith stared at me in shock. Then he smiled, revealing sparkling white but crooked front teeth. With his tousled brown hair and the smattering of freckles across his nose, he resembled an overgrown Mouseketeer.
'Are you kidding? I'll make the hours fit. Oh, Ms Winthrop, you won't be sorry.'
'I know I won't.' I patted his shoulder. Had I ever been that earnest?
When I entered our office, Marianne was crying over her keyboard, noisy, racking sobs. My anger faded. Crouching by her chair, I rubbed her slender forearm. 'Marianne, honey, what's wrong?'
She waved her arm with a jangle of sterling silver bracelets, too overwrought to speak. Her straight black hair curtained her face.
'Is my brother still arguing about the property settlement? Or did Brenda ask to borrow your wedding dress again?'
She shook her head and buried her nose in a tissue. 'It wasn't them. It - Oh, I don't want to talk about it.'
'That's a first.' I pressed my palm to her forehead. 'Should I call a doctor?'
'Only if he's well-hung.'
Reassured by her returning sense of humour, I pushed to my feet and tugged her black velveteen sleeve. 'How about me treating you to lunch today?' I wagged my brows. 'Le Bee-Fin?'
She sniffled and lifted her head. I noticed she'd barely mussed her make-up. 'We haven't got a reservation.'
Normally, she would have had a point. The exclusive restaurant had won so many awards, two weeks was not too long to wait for a table. Today, however, I had an ace up my sleeve. 'Remember that special order I filled for the maftre d', the Japanese pillow books? He'll find a corner for us. We'll kill a bottle of wine and you can tell Auntie Kate all about it.'
'Nice wine?'
I grinned. Marianne had a practical soul. 'I'll let you pick.'
She adjusted her silver Hermes scarf. 'All right. I'll get my coat.'
'But it's only 10.30.'
'So what? I need a drink now, not at noon.'
As soon as we arrived, the elegant French atmosphere put me at ease. The same was not true of Marianne. She fussed over a microscopic speck on her fork, and a draught, and then one of the chandeliers was glaring in her eye. The waiter, who'd gone beyond the call of duty to seat us well, satisfied every complaint with a bow and a smile. I resolved to leave him a generous tip and waited for Marianne to calm down.
The truth came out midway through the second bottle of Chateau Smith-Haut Lafitte.
'You knew I wanted them and you slept with them anyway.'
Trying not to choke on my trout almandine, I pressed my napkin to my mouth. "That's what was bothering you? Come on, Marianne. We're not teenagers. I'm not obliged to avoid everyone you might have a crush on.'
'But you lied to me.' She threw back an angry swallow of the pricey wine. 'You told me they were gay.'
'I was trying to save you some embarrassment.'
'Hah!'
'Marianne, they showed no interest in you.'