years, we knew how to discuss politics without losing our
tempers and we agreed on which TV station had the best newscast and which one
had the worst weather reports. We were very much in-sync.
Quite possibly, that was what disturbed me the most about
the change in our relationship. If I allowed myself, I could see us together.
Unfortunately, shaking off the old to embrace the new was
not something that came easily to me.
As I mulled all of this over, his deep breathing brought a
smile to my face. He’d drifted off to sleep.
I obsessed too much, I decided, when I should simply enjoy
the moment.
So that’s what I did. I listened to Mike’s heartbeat and his
light snoring and I reveled in our time together, praying it wouldn’t be brief.
Besides, it was inescapable that I’d overanalyze everything
in the morning, when he went off to the gym. So while I could, why not take
advantage of the comforting respite that enveloped me?
Chapter Six
Lacey Mansfield Attempts to Rock It Old School. News
at Ten.
(Or Perhaps Tune Into the Morning News…)
Having unraveled so much of my confining binds led me to
sleep in later than usual. When I woke, I felt refreshed and exuberant. A
titillating and inviting change of pace.
After reluctantly shedding Mike’s shirt, showering and
stepping into a yoga suit, I pulled open the front door on my way to the
coffeehouse. But sitting on my welcome mat was a white bag with the shop’s logo
on it. Grinning, I snatched the sack from the rug and carried it into the
kitchen. I unpacked a large cup of plain, black coffee, still piping hot, and a
bagel with cream cheese and lox.
I stared at the contents I’d removed from the bag and found
it incredibly sweet and highly disarming that Mike knew exactly how I would
have ordered breakfast this morning, were I the one who’d made the run to the
coffeehouse. He, in turn, would prefer an ice-cold glass of milk and a bagel
with ham, cheese and a fried egg.
Aside from off-the-charts chemistry, the details were what
mattered most to me. Not just remembering my birthday or my favorite color.
Mike knew those things, but he also knew what food I liked. He hadn’t had to ask
when ordering Chinese last night. Nor did he bother to add cream or sugar
packets to this morning’s delivery, because he knew that, in my mind, nothing
beat a steaming cup of unenhanced, no-frills, average joe.
Though Mike was obviously back from the gym, I didn’t want
to disturb him. So I sent a quick “thank you” text to him, then popped the lid
off the coffee and carried everything over to the table. I spread out the
transcripts I’d brought home and waded through them as I devoured breakfast. By
early evening, I’d only made it through half the stack of papers, but I had
divided out some of the transcripts, setting aside curious emails that needed
to be linked together in order to tell a more accurate story.
I knocked off in time to primp and dress before catching a
cab to Velage, arriving right on time. There was a line at the door and I
wondered how I’d even get into the popular venue, not having any personal clout
or even a reservation. Plenty of people before me were turned away. I didn’t
have Biel’s number, but she had my card. Hopefully, she’d give me a jingle if I
didn’t make the grade with the hostess.
When I stepped up to her podium, I announced, “I’m meeting
Biel McKinley,” and felt ridiculous for saying so. Who would ever believe me?
Sure enough, the twenty-something waif sized me up. In a
haughty tone, she asked, “And you are?”
“Lacey Mansfield.”
She consulted the open reservation book lying flat on her
stand and then gave a quick nod. “Come with me,” she said in a more congenial
tone, since my name was “on the list”.
Ah, I’d not been publicly humiliated with roaring laughter
over having claimed I was supposed to be here with a supermodel. Thank God. And
Biel.
I followed the hostess into the chic nightclub
tempers and we agreed on which TV station had the best newscast and which one
had the worst weather reports. We were very much in-sync.
Quite possibly, that was what disturbed me the most about
the change in our relationship. If I allowed myself, I could see us together.
Unfortunately, shaking off the old to embrace the new was
not something that came easily to me.
As I mulled all of this over, his deep breathing brought a
smile to my face. He’d drifted off to sleep.
I obsessed too much, I decided, when I should simply enjoy
the moment.
So that’s what I did. I listened to Mike’s heartbeat and his
light snoring and I reveled in our time together, praying it wouldn’t be brief.
Besides, it was inescapable that I’d overanalyze everything
in the morning, when he went off to the gym. So while I could, why not take
advantage of the comforting respite that enveloped me?
Chapter Six
Lacey Mansfield Attempts to Rock It Old School. News
at Ten.
(Or Perhaps Tune Into the Morning News…)
Having unraveled so much of my confining binds led me to
sleep in later than usual. When I woke, I felt refreshed and exuberant. A
titillating and inviting change of pace.
After reluctantly shedding Mike’s shirt, showering and
stepping into a yoga suit, I pulled open the front door on my way to the
coffeehouse. But sitting on my welcome mat was a white bag with the shop’s logo
on it. Grinning, I snatched the sack from the rug and carried it into the
kitchen. I unpacked a large cup of plain, black coffee, still piping hot, and a
bagel with cream cheese and lox.
I stared at the contents I’d removed from the bag and found
it incredibly sweet and highly disarming that Mike knew exactly how I would
have ordered breakfast this morning, were I the one who’d made the run to the
coffeehouse. He, in turn, would prefer an ice-cold glass of milk and a bagel
with ham, cheese and a fried egg.
Aside from off-the-charts chemistry, the details were what
mattered most to me. Not just remembering my birthday or my favorite color.
Mike knew those things, but he also knew what food I liked. He hadn’t had to ask
when ordering Chinese last night. Nor did he bother to add cream or sugar
packets to this morning’s delivery, because he knew that, in my mind, nothing
beat a steaming cup of unenhanced, no-frills, average joe.
Though Mike was obviously back from the gym, I didn’t want
to disturb him. So I sent a quick “thank you” text to him, then popped the lid
off the coffee and carried everything over to the table. I spread out the
transcripts I’d brought home and waded through them as I devoured breakfast. By
early evening, I’d only made it through half the stack of papers, but I had
divided out some of the transcripts, setting aside curious emails that needed
to be linked together in order to tell a more accurate story.
I knocked off in time to primp and dress before catching a
cab to Velage, arriving right on time. There was a line at the door and I
wondered how I’d even get into the popular venue, not having any personal clout
or even a reservation. Plenty of people before me were turned away. I didn’t
have Biel’s number, but she had my card. Hopefully, she’d give me a jingle if I
didn’t make the grade with the hostess.
When I stepped up to her podium, I announced, “I’m meeting
Biel McKinley,” and felt ridiculous for saying so. Who would ever believe me?
Sure enough, the twenty-something waif sized me up. In a
haughty tone, she asked, “And you are?”
“Lacey Mansfield.”
She consulted the open reservation book lying flat on her
stand and then gave a quick nod. “Come with me,” she said in a more congenial
tone, since my name was “on the list”.
Ah, I’d not been publicly humiliated with roaring laughter
over having claimed I was supposed to be here with a supermodel. Thank God. And
Biel.
I followed the hostess into the chic nightclub
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