girl mice in Cinderella—the ones that knew better than the boy mice how to revamp an old gown into a fashion statement. But hey, boy mice knew how to get a cat tied up in knots.
She had dragged her dress dummy out into his living room and surrounded herself with bolts of fabric, pins, measuring tapes, patterns, and odd items only seamstresses understood—like pressing hams. They’d had a few discussions in the past about this—turning his spaces into workrooms—but he hadn’t won any of those sparring rounds. She claimed the light was better up here. Besides, he liked to watch her create things. He admired creativity.
So he had surrendered, knowing it kept Pinky sane. And they needed Pinky sane because she was the glue that held their little jigsaw-puzzle life together.
But this morning the puzzle pieces were completely unglued and scattered to the four winds.
“What’s all this? Paul asked. “Don’t you have to work today?” He stood in the kitchen, itchy in his go-to-meeting suit, haunted by his night with Patricia.
And work was beating in his head. Today the open-to-buy approvals were being handed out and a “Spring Trend” meeting with all the buyers was set for ten A.M .
It seemed like he’d just finished holiday in August, and here he had to start planning his flight to New York in November for the spring market. Things were always hoppin’ in handbags. He snort-laughed his coffee, nervous and off-kilter about everything. He wondered if it showed all over him. He wondered what every moment would be like from now on.
Pinky looked up at him from her pins and needles with an odd look on her face. Could she see it in his eyes?
“Handbag humor,” he explained.
“Only in your own head, Mr. Costello.” Pinky grinned at him with her mouth full of pins. “I took a random day off.”
Her pins always freaked him out. He felt shaky. He tried to make conversation, but all that was on his mind was Patricia. “So, Pinking Shears, what are we going to do about our Patricia?”
“Let her experience nature’s consequences, I guess.” Pinky shrugged.
Nature had certainly made an entrance last night.
Paul came over and sat down next to Pinky. He drank his coffee carefully, treading on thin ice. “Nature can be harsh,” he said quietly.
“Who knows, maybe she’ll fit into the Nordquist family jungle. Otherwise, let’s hope the learning curve is swift and painless.”
“I doubt that,” Paul said.
Pinky looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Which, that she’ll fit in, or that the curve will be swift and painless?”
“Both. Why are you helping with this Brett thing?”
“I guess I like to see fairy tales come true,” Pinky answered.
“Fairy tales. Bullshit. Brett is all wrong for her.” Paul got up from his chair and went to the kitchen. He clunked his coffee cup on the counter. “Here’s a fairy tale for you. It’s Tuesday. I didn’t make meatloaf yesterday and now we have no leftovers for meatloaf sandwiches. There’s a ton of chicken cacciatore, though. So eat.”
“God, Paul, you don’t have to get so animated about it.” Pinky looked at him funny.
“Where is Princess Patricia?” Paul asked. Hewas incredibly tense about seeing her face to face this morning.
“Last I heard she was experiencing nature’s consequences in the bathroom this morning. I have a feeling she’s going to be calling in sick today.”
Paul shook his head. “She can’t handle her liquor. She never could.” He realized at that moment the gravity of what he’d done. He’d let himself seduce Patricia while she was under the effects of alcohol. Or did she seduce him? Either way, it was nothing but trouble.
Except when his mind slipped back there it was so amazing that shock waves of memory moved over him.
“Go to work. I’m here. I’ll dunk her head in the toilet and make her see the error of her ways.” Pinky waved him off.
“You do that. I’ll see you for dinner, I
She had dragged her dress dummy out into his living room and surrounded herself with bolts of fabric, pins, measuring tapes, patterns, and odd items only seamstresses understood—like pressing hams. They’d had a few discussions in the past about this—turning his spaces into workrooms—but he hadn’t won any of those sparring rounds. She claimed the light was better up here. Besides, he liked to watch her create things. He admired creativity.
So he had surrendered, knowing it kept Pinky sane. And they needed Pinky sane because she was the glue that held their little jigsaw-puzzle life together.
But this morning the puzzle pieces were completely unglued and scattered to the four winds.
“What’s all this? Paul asked. “Don’t you have to work today?” He stood in the kitchen, itchy in his go-to-meeting suit, haunted by his night with Patricia.
And work was beating in his head. Today the open-to-buy approvals were being handed out and a “Spring Trend” meeting with all the buyers was set for ten A.M .
It seemed like he’d just finished holiday in August, and here he had to start planning his flight to New York in November for the spring market. Things were always hoppin’ in handbags. He snort-laughed his coffee, nervous and off-kilter about everything. He wondered if it showed all over him. He wondered what every moment would be like from now on.
Pinky looked up at him from her pins and needles with an odd look on her face. Could she see it in his eyes?
“Handbag humor,” he explained.
“Only in your own head, Mr. Costello.” Pinky grinned at him with her mouth full of pins. “I took a random day off.”
Her pins always freaked him out. He felt shaky. He tried to make conversation, but all that was on his mind was Patricia. “So, Pinking Shears, what are we going to do about our Patricia?”
“Let her experience nature’s consequences, I guess.” Pinky shrugged.
Nature had certainly made an entrance last night.
Paul came over and sat down next to Pinky. He drank his coffee carefully, treading on thin ice. “Nature can be harsh,” he said quietly.
“Who knows, maybe she’ll fit into the Nordquist family jungle. Otherwise, let’s hope the learning curve is swift and painless.”
“I doubt that,” Paul said.
Pinky looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Which, that she’ll fit in, or that the curve will be swift and painless?”
“Both. Why are you helping with this Brett thing?”
“I guess I like to see fairy tales come true,” Pinky answered.
“Fairy tales. Bullshit. Brett is all wrong for her.” Paul got up from his chair and went to the kitchen. He clunked his coffee cup on the counter. “Here’s a fairy tale for you. It’s Tuesday. I didn’t make meatloaf yesterday and now we have no leftovers for meatloaf sandwiches. There’s a ton of chicken cacciatore, though. So eat.”
“God, Paul, you don’t have to get so animated about it.” Pinky looked at him funny.
“Where is Princess Patricia?” Paul asked. Hewas incredibly tense about seeing her face to face this morning.
“Last I heard she was experiencing nature’s consequences in the bathroom this morning. I have a feeling she’s going to be calling in sick today.”
Paul shook his head. “She can’t handle her liquor. She never could.” He realized at that moment the gravity of what he’d done. He’d let himself seduce Patricia while she was under the effects of alcohol. Or did she seduce him? Either way, it was nothing but trouble.
Except when his mind slipped back there it was so amazing that shock waves of memory moved over him.
“Go to work. I’m here. I’ll dunk her head in the toilet and make her see the error of her ways.” Pinky waved him off.
“You do that. I’ll see you for dinner, I
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