option.
“How much is the loan?” I asked the now-silent phone. Jeez, leave it to my mother to give me specific instructions on the Mandatory Brunch and completely blow past the amount of the check. It was tauntingly cruel. It was so like my mother.
My morning plans needed some rearranging. Since I’d been given the day off, sans pay I’m sure, I was supposed to meet Becky and Liv at Tommasso’s Deli at nine thirty. Patrick would hook up with us at the courthouse. Now I needed to up my departure time by at least thirty minutes so I could get the check, sign my financial life away, and hit the bank.
So much for a leisurely start to the day. I had just enough time for two very quick cups of coffee before I had to be in the shower. As I poured refill number one, I remembered the unopened gift bag.
I could and probably should wait until Patrick was here to watch me open it. But that would mean waiting two full weeks, until he returned from his guys-only, Outward Bound–ish hiking trip. I’m not that patient. As Liam has often pointed out. Usually punctuating the remark with that cocky, sensual half smile.
I gave myself a little mental slap. No Liam thoughts allowed. Specifically no remotely carnal ones. None. I am strong. I know better. I can control myself.
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
The red gift bag was calling me. Being an accomplished gift recipient, I knew from the weight and size of the bag it wasn’t clothing. Not heavy enough. Nor was it jewelry. Too bulky. It was featherlight and stuffed to the top with slightly crumpled tissue. A small gold sticker with three indecipherable letters pressed into the foil topped the professionally arranged tissue. Slipping my thumbnail underneath to break the seal, I carefully lifted the whole wad of tissue from the bag.
Peeling the layers like an onion, not that I’ve peeled all that many onions, I eventually uncovered an absolutely stunning blown glass ornament. I sighed and smiled all at the same time. How incredible was Patrick? Once, in passing, I’d mentioned I might want to put up an actual Christmas tree this year but I’d never gotten around to buying ornaments. Now I was holding a lovely, six-and-a-quarter-inch-tall likeness of a Brazilian beach babe. She was holding a large pink shopping bag, dressed in funky, fun accessories. A little tag hanging from the top hook of the ornament explained that she was hand-painted by an artisan and hand-molded in the tradition of the Murano sculptors in Italy.
Thanks to Patrick’s generosity while in Rio, I had my very first holiday ornament and a killer new bikini. I tried Patrick’s number but didn’t get an answer. He could be doing his morning run or might be in the shower, which was exactly where I needed to be. The shower, not running. I don’t run. I stroll.
Following a quick shower, I dried my hair and applied makeup. Now I had to make an important decision. What to wear? Conservative, I decided, homing in on the Ann Taylor outlet section of my closet. While I wasn’t crazy about the dark cinnabar color of the pebble crepe, flounce hem, sleeveless dress, and matching cropped jacket, it screamed subdued professional. To quiet the screaming, I paired it with the Haircalf d’Orsay pumps in zebra print I’d picked up at Burdines’s, now Macy’s, semiannual sale. Even on sale, I couldn’t swing the matching bag, leaving me no choice but to go with my tried but true Gucci Croro black tote.
While high on cold medicine last winter, I’d purchased a silvertone link and pearl necklace and matching earrings from the Home Shopping Network and figured now was as good a time as any to give them a test drive. I’ve never worn silver-tone, and wasn’t exactly sure what it meant, beyond not real silver. Hopefully, the stuff wouldn’t turn my neck green.
Switching things from my purse to my tote, I made myself a roady of coffee, wrote Sam a quick thank-you note for cleaning my place and stuck it under his door, then
“How much is the loan?” I asked the now-silent phone. Jeez, leave it to my mother to give me specific instructions on the Mandatory Brunch and completely blow past the amount of the check. It was tauntingly cruel. It was so like my mother.
My morning plans needed some rearranging. Since I’d been given the day off, sans pay I’m sure, I was supposed to meet Becky and Liv at Tommasso’s Deli at nine thirty. Patrick would hook up with us at the courthouse. Now I needed to up my departure time by at least thirty minutes so I could get the check, sign my financial life away, and hit the bank.
So much for a leisurely start to the day. I had just enough time for two very quick cups of coffee before I had to be in the shower. As I poured refill number one, I remembered the unopened gift bag.
I could and probably should wait until Patrick was here to watch me open it. But that would mean waiting two full weeks, until he returned from his guys-only, Outward Bound–ish hiking trip. I’m not that patient. As Liam has often pointed out. Usually punctuating the remark with that cocky, sensual half smile.
I gave myself a little mental slap. No Liam thoughts allowed. Specifically no remotely carnal ones. None. I am strong. I know better. I can control myself.
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
The red gift bag was calling me. Being an accomplished gift recipient, I knew from the weight and size of the bag it wasn’t clothing. Not heavy enough. Nor was it jewelry. Too bulky. It was featherlight and stuffed to the top with slightly crumpled tissue. A small gold sticker with three indecipherable letters pressed into the foil topped the professionally arranged tissue. Slipping my thumbnail underneath to break the seal, I carefully lifted the whole wad of tissue from the bag.
Peeling the layers like an onion, not that I’ve peeled all that many onions, I eventually uncovered an absolutely stunning blown glass ornament. I sighed and smiled all at the same time. How incredible was Patrick? Once, in passing, I’d mentioned I might want to put up an actual Christmas tree this year but I’d never gotten around to buying ornaments. Now I was holding a lovely, six-and-a-quarter-inch-tall likeness of a Brazilian beach babe. She was holding a large pink shopping bag, dressed in funky, fun accessories. A little tag hanging from the top hook of the ornament explained that she was hand-painted by an artisan and hand-molded in the tradition of the Murano sculptors in Italy.
Thanks to Patrick’s generosity while in Rio, I had my very first holiday ornament and a killer new bikini. I tried Patrick’s number but didn’t get an answer. He could be doing his morning run or might be in the shower, which was exactly where I needed to be. The shower, not running. I don’t run. I stroll.
Following a quick shower, I dried my hair and applied makeup. Now I had to make an important decision. What to wear? Conservative, I decided, homing in on the Ann Taylor outlet section of my closet. While I wasn’t crazy about the dark cinnabar color of the pebble crepe, flounce hem, sleeveless dress, and matching cropped jacket, it screamed subdued professional. To quiet the screaming, I paired it with the Haircalf d’Orsay pumps in zebra print I’d picked up at Burdines’s, now Macy’s, semiannual sale. Even on sale, I couldn’t swing the matching bag, leaving me no choice but to go with my tried but true Gucci Croro black tote.
While high on cold medicine last winter, I’d purchased a silvertone link and pearl necklace and matching earrings from the Home Shopping Network and figured now was as good a time as any to give them a test drive. I’ve never worn silver-tone, and wasn’t exactly sure what it meant, beyond not real silver. Hopefully, the stuff wouldn’t turn my neck green.
Switching things from my purse to my tote, I made myself a roady of coffee, wrote Sam a quick thank-you note for cleaning my place and stuck it under his door, then
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