to have a lover . . . or two. But she’d never talked about marriage or commitment. Had she ever?
Madison was still pondering that when she fell asleep. She slept better than she had thus far, alone in Alice’s house. She’d slept in her clothes, Logan’s sawdust and aftershave scent lingering in her nose. When she woke, she found her arms wrapped around herself, and recalled a dream of strong male arms surrounding her, the way he’d held her at the store.
Usually when she had such dreams, the arms constricted, choking the life out of her. Alice had called them her emotional claustrophobia dreams.
She decided to stay at the house today. Thinking about Logan’s overly developed sense of personal responsibility, she realized she’d better call or he or Troy might show up on her doorstep. It was too early for them to be open, which relieved her of the possible chance of talking to him. If yesterday was an example of what being next door to him every day would be like, she wasn’t sure how she was going to cope. Or stay away.
As she listened to his voice on the answering machine, she told herself she would not call during off hours to hear that sexy timbre encouraging her to leave a message, telling him what she needed.
“Uh, hi, this is Madison. I’m going to work at the house today. I figured you’d wonder where I was if I wasn’t there, and I didn’t want you to worry.” The words sounded wrong to her, like yesterday had been a far deeper connection than it was, but there was no way to take it back, so she added, awkwardly, “I mean, I know you feel a responsibility toward me because of Alice. So that’s why I thought I better call. Bye.”
God, she was an idiot. Turning off her phone, she considered what she could do at the house, now that she’d committed her day to it. She didn’t have to hang out here. She could go into Charlotte, go shopping, go to a museum. She honestly didn’t want to pack up more of Alice’s belongings, decide what to keep and what to donate to the local charities.
Going upstairs, she stood outside the one room whose threshold she hadn’t yet crossed. It was the spare guestroom Alice had converted into what she called Wonderland, a quirky play on her name. Madison cracked the door, saw a glimpse of color and sparkles, and closed it again.
They’d loved playing dress-up as little girls. The fact they never gave it up had been their shared secret. Every time she came to visit Alice, they would spend at least one night in that room, with a great deal of wine and a full 100-count box of Russell Stover’s, playing dress-up with the vast array of costumes. Alice had started the collection with what she kept from her college theater days. The role-playing costumes she bought for the shop had augmented it considerably, things she’d liked enough to buy an extra in her own size. Fortunately it was the size she and Madison shared as adults.
They’d often been mistaken for twins, another reason Madison was so wary of Logan’s fascination with her. It wouldn’t be the first time one of Alice’s cast-off boyfriends thought Madison was a suitable second.
She leaned against the guest room door, remembering the last time they’d spent an evening in that room. She’d been twenty-six, on soon-to-crash-and-burn relationship number three. God, what she’d give to have that night back again.
* * *
“There are like two hundred outfits in here,” Madison teased her sister. “You’re a hoarder.”
Alice gave her a lofty look from the other side of the room. She was wearing a Marie Antoinette costume, complete with corset and long white-blond wig. The skirt stuck out on either side like a broomstick was beneath it. “This from a hooker.”
“I’m not a hooker. I’m a high class escort, versed in every form of sexual pleasure, called to service the world’s most powerful men. They give me diamonds.” Madison stretched out an arm loaded up with sparkly bangle bracelets,
Madison was still pondering that when she fell asleep. She slept better than she had thus far, alone in Alice’s house. She’d slept in her clothes, Logan’s sawdust and aftershave scent lingering in her nose. When she woke, she found her arms wrapped around herself, and recalled a dream of strong male arms surrounding her, the way he’d held her at the store.
Usually when she had such dreams, the arms constricted, choking the life out of her. Alice had called them her emotional claustrophobia dreams.
She decided to stay at the house today. Thinking about Logan’s overly developed sense of personal responsibility, she realized she’d better call or he or Troy might show up on her doorstep. It was too early for them to be open, which relieved her of the possible chance of talking to him. If yesterday was an example of what being next door to him every day would be like, she wasn’t sure how she was going to cope. Or stay away.
As she listened to his voice on the answering machine, she told herself she would not call during off hours to hear that sexy timbre encouraging her to leave a message, telling him what she needed.
“Uh, hi, this is Madison. I’m going to work at the house today. I figured you’d wonder where I was if I wasn’t there, and I didn’t want you to worry.” The words sounded wrong to her, like yesterday had been a far deeper connection than it was, but there was no way to take it back, so she added, awkwardly, “I mean, I know you feel a responsibility toward me because of Alice. So that’s why I thought I better call. Bye.”
God, she was an idiot. Turning off her phone, she considered what she could do at the house, now that she’d committed her day to it. She didn’t have to hang out here. She could go into Charlotte, go shopping, go to a museum. She honestly didn’t want to pack up more of Alice’s belongings, decide what to keep and what to donate to the local charities.
Going upstairs, she stood outside the one room whose threshold she hadn’t yet crossed. It was the spare guestroom Alice had converted into what she called Wonderland, a quirky play on her name. Madison cracked the door, saw a glimpse of color and sparkles, and closed it again.
They’d loved playing dress-up as little girls. The fact they never gave it up had been their shared secret. Every time she came to visit Alice, they would spend at least one night in that room, with a great deal of wine and a full 100-count box of Russell Stover’s, playing dress-up with the vast array of costumes. Alice had started the collection with what she kept from her college theater days. The role-playing costumes she bought for the shop had augmented it considerably, things she’d liked enough to buy an extra in her own size. Fortunately it was the size she and Madison shared as adults.
They’d often been mistaken for twins, another reason Madison was so wary of Logan’s fascination with her. It wouldn’t be the first time one of Alice’s cast-off boyfriends thought Madison was a suitable second.
She leaned against the guest room door, remembering the last time they’d spent an evening in that room. She’d been twenty-six, on soon-to-crash-and-burn relationship number three. God, what she’d give to have that night back again.
* * *
“There are like two hundred outfits in here,” Madison teased her sister. “You’re a hoarder.”
Alice gave her a lofty look from the other side of the room. She was wearing a Marie Antoinette costume, complete with corset and long white-blond wig. The skirt stuck out on either side like a broomstick was beneath it. “This from a hooker.”
“I’m not a hooker. I’m a high class escort, versed in every form of sexual pleasure, called to service the world’s most powerful men. They give me diamonds.” Madison stretched out an arm loaded up with sparkly bangle bracelets,
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