In the process, it rode up a bit. In the process, I got to see the stomach. In the process I tingled, and may have gasped the tiniest bit.
Logan noticed. Leo luckily did not. I turned quickly toward the wall to cover my blush, squeezing my paintbrush within an inch of its life. As Leo and Logan chatted behind me, I told myself it was just a stomach. A tan stomach, sure. Tan and flat and dusted with a little bit of happy trail, but it was just a stomach.
As I tried to convince myself of this, I realized that the room had grown quiet. And my skin, which was tingling again, told me Leo was standing right behind me. I turned.
“Nice working with you, Roxie.”
“You too, Leo,” I said. “Good painting.”
Good painting? Good grief.
“Good painting to you,” he said with a laugh. “I’ll see you around, I’m sure.”
“It’s a small town,” I replied. “Maybe you’ll show up at my back door with your nuts again.”
Leo shook his head as he turned to go, and I could hear him chuckling as he went down the stairs. I still didn’t have the heart to tell him about the paint all over the back of his shirt.
I grinned at Logan, slapped him on the shoulder, and said “I’m starving. Let’s go have some snacks!”
Chapter 7
That week sped by, and before I knew it, I was helping my mother pack for her reality show. And that’s a sentence rarely uttered. The producers had given her a list of things she couldn’t bring, including a phone or laptop. She’d need to be totally cut off from what was going on at home, and while that would have driven me batty, she was excited to unplug. She went through her final to-do lists with me, made sure I had everything I needed for the diner for the summer, and then was ready to go.
The trait that annoyed me the most about my mother was also one that I admired: her ability to go with the flow. Growing up, it was frustrating as hell to have my only parent be so easygoing. I wished for the kind of mom who made sure I did my homework, made sure things like permission slips were signed and bag lunches packed for field trips. But her flight-of-fancy brain also caused her to wake me up out of a dead sleep at night to make sure I didn’t miss a meteor shower, and sing Christmas carols in July at the top of her lungs as we barreled up the highway because she just had to go to an antique fair in Albany she’d just read about.
This same attitude made it possible for her to enjoy the trip she was about to go on and truly see it as an adventure. I watched her buzz about the kitchen, searching for a chopstick to stick into her hair bun while we waited for the car that was picking her up and taking her to the airport. Aunt Cheryl lived in Dayton, Ohio, and was meeting her in New York City. Since Aunt Cheryl was short, squatty, and cantankerous, the two of them were going to make for great television.
“Okay, is there anything else you need from me? You’ve got the phone numbers for all of the employees in case you need to get hold of them, and did you ever find the insurance papers in that stack I showed you on the desk?”
“I do and I did. We’re good, Mom.” And I was ready to take over.
“And don’t forget—if the walk-in seems like its leaking, just shove a few towels under there and it’s good to go. It usually only does that on really hot days, and you know how it can get in July,” she said, buzzing by in a cloud of neroli and peppermint. Mom was a big fan of essential oils. Hmm, was that a hint of clary sage? She might just be a little nervous.
“I got it, Mom,” I said, handing her the passport she’d just set down and now couldn’t find again.