What truly astounded him was her appetite.
She wolfed down a Philly cheesesteak, an order of cheese fries, and a Rita’s lemon ice with barely a pause except to talk about wages and hours.
She was incredible. Focused. And hungry.
He thought back to his third year of law school and cringed. The lighter course load meant too much partying. And he’d still done well. He didn’t remember being short on funds or hungry, though, which meant he should have appreciated his mother more than he already did.
“I’ve seen truckers eat with more finesse.” He nudged her shoulder as she finished the last bit of lemon ice and was glad when she laughed, un-insulted.
“I was hungry. I’ve learned to camel-pack food because when I get caught up in a project or a job, I forget to eat.”
Greg couldn’t imagine forgetting to eat because food was, well . . . food. And delicious. But something about Tara made him think that maybe she didn’t forget food as much as she pushed the thought aside as unaffordable. That realization seemed to fit her profile. Driven. Tough. Short on funds.
But at ease with herself and her body, unlike most women he’d met lately. Tara liked herself, and that was a refreshing change.
“So what are you doing tomorrow?” She swiped a napkin across her mouth, tossed it away, and looked up at him.
“You asking me out?” He grinned because the thought appealed to him instantly.
She made a funny face that said, Um . . . no, and he found himself wishing she’d at least considered the idea. “Not in this lifetime. Never date the boss: sage advice from where I’m standing. But the store will be open on Sundays starting next week. It’s closed tomorrow, and if I can take the afternoon to go through things, I can familiarize myself with the dresses, the manufacturers, the layout of the files. I can also see who’s got spring weddings coming up, because those girls need to be reminded to make their fitting appointments, try on their veils, double check for shoes and accessories. Did you know that some of the more savvy manufacturers are designing dresses with deep pockets?”
He didn’t know that and wasn’t sure why it was significant. “And that’s important because—?”
“A bride needs to have things on hand on her wedding day. A purse is a terrible inconvenience. A maid of honor with an emergency bag is wonderful, but just when you need her help, she’s dancing with the best man’s brother, so if the bride has pockets”—she patted the right hip of her jacket—“she’s got a miniature arsenal at hand. Pretty solid.”
“I never would have thought of such a thing,” he admitted, but the thought of a bride facing a whole long day with nowhere to put anything made her logic sensible. “I can see where it would come in handy. But I’m going to bet those mermaid dresses don’t have pockets. There’s barely room in them for the bride.”
She made a face of agreement as they walked toward her brick apartment building. “If you’re sporting the perfect hourglass shape, they rock. Right now the mermaid look has taken command of the advertising end of the industry, über-dramatic and crazy chic, but those dresses aren’t comfortable, you can barely dance in them, and I’ve seen brides have to be lifted into limousines because they can’t move their legs enough to climb into the car unassisted.”
“You’re kidding.”
Her expression said she didn’t kid about bridal, and Greg was beginning to believe it. “Glamour and comfort can go hand in hand. I wish more girls realized that. The way your mother’s shop is laid out, I can see she understood that premise. It’s not just the fashion of the moment. It’s the timelessness of the fashion.”
She had the common sense of an established businesswoman in a fairly young package. Sure, she had to be pretty smart to get into the law school at Temple, but smart and sensible didn’t always mesh. He worked with a lot of smart folks, but a fair percentage of them had trouble finding their way in out of the rain.
Based on today’s observations, he was pretty sure Tara would know how to get out of the rain and equally sure that if she got wet in the meantime, she’d handle it just fine.
“Thanks for walking me, Greg.” She turned her gaze to the plain front door, quite different from the colonial-style upscale row house he lived in. “Is it all right for me to check out the shop tomorrow? You don’t have to hang around. I’m sure you’ve got other things to do.”
Football playoffs.