“I don’t want a donut,” she said, sounding to Kara like a snotty brat.
“Let’s try this again.” With a deep breath, and the patience of a saint, Marianne calmly said, “I want some privacy in my training room for the moment. You need to head out for a while. You can come back at your regularly scheduled time.”
“You’ve let Levi come in early before,” she said, looking a little hurt. Kara tried to feel some form of sympathy, but the young woman made it difficult.
“I’ve asked Levi to come in for a specific project where I needed an extra pair of hands. Right now, I’m about to have a meeting in my office, in which I need privacy. You’re excused,” she snapped when Nikki opened her mouth again, likely to argue. “I’ll see you in an hour.”
Nikki flounced, yes, flounced, out the door, grabbing her knockoff designer purse from the hook behind the door before she left. The door slammed shut behind her.
“God, she’s insufferable. How the hell have you not sent her back yet?”
“She’s twenty-one. We were all insufferable then. Well, maybe not you,” she conceded when Kara raised a brow. “But you had a three-year-old. Hard to be insufferable when you’re responsible for another human life. She’s immature. She’ll either grow out of it, or life will slap her back hard. She’ll figure it out.”
“Maybe slapping her now is the answer.” Kara grinned as Marianne handed her a muffin from the basket. “I mean, metaphorically.”
“Of course you do,” Marianne said, then took a bite of her own muffin. “You’re not in a very Zen place today. What’s going on with you?”
“I nearly kissed Graham.” Picking at the paper from the muffin, she didn’t look up. She believed in honesty, especially with those closest to you. But she also believed you didn’t have to make it harder on yourself than necessary. Right now, staring at her muffin made it easier. “The night you came over for the EpiPen demo. You left, he stayed, and . . .”
Marianne said nothing, and Kara felt an odd need to fill in the silence.
“It’s not my fault. He’s just standing there so, so . . . male. And caring, and he seems to really like Zach, and he’s, you know, well, he looks like how he looks and . . .” The muffin crumbled on top of the exam bench, and Kara knew Marianne was listening intently, if she didn’t scold for the crumbs on her pristine work space. “I don’t know.”
“First off . . .” When Marianne didn’t continue, Kara finally looked up cautiously. Her friend’s face was serious. “First off, crumbs.”
Kara grinned. She couldn’t help it.
“Secondly, hell yeah, you should have kissed him. What stopped you?”
“A call from Matt’s mother. Matt was the friend Zach was staying with.” When Marianne nodded in understanding, she added, “He was fine. Just a question on snack food. But it definitely derailed the whole thing. And thank God,” she added, wondering why her friend wasn’t equally shocked by the entire ordeal. The silence meeting that statement was deafening. “Because it would have been a disaster.”
“You forgot how to kiss?” Marianne smiled. “It’s pretty easy. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to spend an hour or three practicing with you.”
Kara held up a piece of muffin over the edge of the table, just waiting for a good reason to drop it on her friend’s pristine floor.
“Okay, okay! Put the muffin down. Asshole.”
“Jerkface,” Kara shot back, very maturely, from the ease of long friendship.
“Come on, Kara. He’s into you. He’s an awesome guy. He’s insane to look at, with all those bronze muscles and that dark hair. And you know how, even if he’s shaved like, ten minutes ago, he still looks like he’s got stubble? And those eyes . . .” Marianne sighed.
“Uh, remember Brad? The Marine you chose? And love? And are probably going to marry and make babies with?”
Marianne shook her head a little, as if coming out of a dream. “I’m taken, not blind. The guy’s seriously hot. And he’s awesome to boot. How many men are there in the world that have both the looks and the personality to match, with the added bonus of intelligence? Five?”
“And you and Reagan got two of them. Very unsporting.”
“I know.” Smug with it, Marianne took another bite of her muffin. “You really should sell these things, you know. They’re actually good, as compared to some of those other allergen-free mixes we’ve tried.”
“Owning my own kitchen and distribution and the startup costs . . .” Kara sighed. She’d looked into it. Nearly ten years of baking and cooking for her allergic-to-everything son had taught her enough tricks of the trade that she could make most things palatable. Sadly, she knew they would never compete with the real deal, but as far as substitutions went, it was acceptable.