Love on the Rocks (with Salt) by Charlene Ross

Chapter 1
    “ I’m getting married,” Andy says
as I pull my sundress over my head. So that was it. The wall he put
up. The melancholy look in his eyes even when he was
smiling.
    I swallow the lump in my throat.
“When?”
    “ Two years. After she finishes
grad school. Everything is reserved; down payments made. We’re
moving in together in June.”
    “ So, I was the last fling before
real life? Or are you a serial cheater?”
    “ No. I don’t know. I’ve never
cheated before.”
    I roll my eyes. I hate men. All of
them. I knew Andy was a fling. The fact that he lives in San
Francisco and I live in Los Angeles was enough to ensure that. I
mean, what are the odds of meeting your soulmate at Club Med? I
didn’t expect to find true love, but I don’t do casual. OK, maybe
this was a bit casual, but he’s only the second guy I’ve ever slept
with. I’ve never had a one night stand. It took three nights and
too many margaritas for Andy to convince me to sleep with him.
Well, not convince exactly, I was more than willing. We’ve been
inseparable since we met the first night here. I became that stupid
girl who ditches her friends. I’ve barely seen Amanda and Alison
this past week.
    I’d expected an “I’ll call you”
that never happened. I know romances like this are intense, but not
real. But still. I think I was falling in love with him. He just
got his MBA, and I’m starting an amazing new job designing wedding
dresses. We have our whole lives ahead of us. I’d started to
daydream that those lives would be together. Yesterday as he was
rubbing sunscreen on my back I had a vision of us in a backyard by
the pool, kids splashing.
    I turn and face him. “Why
couldn’t you have told me before?” I ask, my voice breaking. Dammit.
    He wipes the tear that falls from my eye
before I can stop it.
    “ Because I knew you weren’t that
kind of girl. At first I thought we could just hang out and be
friends, but I’d never felt such a pull toward anyone before. I
couldn’t keep away.”
    That has got to be the lamest thing I’ve ever
heard. I take his hand away from my face and start looking around
the room for my sandals.
    “ So why tell me now? Today was
goodbye anyway.”
    He shoves his hands in his pockets
and starts to rock back and forth on his heels. “This is more than
a fling for me. I’m starting to fall in love with you.”
    “ Don’t say that.”
    “ It’s true. I don’t want to say
goodbye.”
    “ But you’re not going to break up
with her?”
    He sighs and sits back down on the bed.
“No.”
    “ I’m nobody’s whore,” I say
grabbing my purse and walking out the door.
    The maid looks at me with my unbrushed hair
and last night’s make-up and smirks; a witness to my walk of shame.
If she only knew.

Fall 2007

Chapter 2
    I’ve seen The Devil Wears Prada at
least a thousand times. OK. That’s an exaggeration. Obviously. But
one hundred for sure. No lie. It’s my go-to guilty pleasure when
I’m folding laundry, toying with designs, giving myself an
extremely bad pedicure.
    It’s hard not to draw comparisons
between Miranda Priestly and my boss, Gabriella (one name, like
Madonna). I mean, Gabriella isn’t a steak-eating, fur coat-wearing,
dismissive, conniving fashion editor. She’s just a credit-stealing
bitch.
    Gabriella is a former runway model
who married a big-time financial analyst and became the designer
and owner of Gowns by Gabriella, a custom wedding dress boutique on
Rodeo Drive. The only problem is that she couldn’t design her way
into an elementary school art contest. She’s got great ideas and
can visualize things. And she knows how to ask the right questions
to get into the brides’ heads and get them to express exactly what
they want even if they come in with only a loose idea. She just
can’t draw for shit.
    The amazing thing is, and
where I give Gabriella credit, she’s able to convince these women
that she designs
the dresses. Most of them anyway. And the