too-green food and stealing her favorite tights in payment.
“Say what they will about beautification permits, I love this town. Did you know that they open the farmer’s market year-round? I just bought twelve varieties of winter squash.”
Whitney wrinkled her nose. “There are that many types of squash? Please tell me you bought them all for decoration.”
Her friend laughed and dropped all the bags on the kitchen island, bulbous vegetables in every color of orange and yellow spilling out. “They’re certified organic and delicious. You haven’t lived until you’ve tried my butternut soup.”
“Kendra, you know I love you, but vegetables are what food eats.” She turned back to her magazine, Plastic Surgery Practice , and resumed her perusal of pictures of the latest fractional laser system. “And I dare you to find anything in this town that isn’t organic. I’m pretty sure all the clothes in that little shop on the corner of Main—you know, the one that had that incredible pair of vegan boots—are made of hemp. That stuff makes me break out in hives. It’s like we wandered into some strange episode of the Twilight Zone where everyone feeds off the earth.”
“You said you liked this place.”
“I know I did. I just don’t like bugs in my food.”
Forget the problems with the local business bureau, which seemed to take offense that they hadn’t been consulted about the new clinic opening up. Forget conservative borough morals, which seemed to be so deeply ingrained the people here somehow forgot they were all the result of good, old-fashioned fornication.
Those were blips, problems to be overcome with a little charm and a few well-placed donations. What Whitney hadn’t planned for was the lifestyle, eco-friendly and pulsating with quaint charm. Kendra and John might love the chance to mingle with the salt of the earth, but Whitney preferred noise and giant bloody steaks and even the occasional drive-by shooting. She wanted her pesticides back. Give her chemicals or give her death.
“You know, John and I have been talking. It’s important that we all become part of the community if we intend to be accepted.” Kendra waved a phallic-shaped gourd at her. “You should join a team or something.”
“I am getting to know the people,” Whitney shot back. Okay, so it was only one person, but she’d definitely done her part to make herself memorable. In fact, she was rather hoping to do it again. Matt Fuller definitely...rose to a challenge.
“I don’t mean sleeping with Teacher Hottie to while away the time. I’m all for having a little fun, but I think you should join the Ladies Golf Club. Those women are our target market—you have to try and be one of them.”
Whitney shuddered. “I would much rather build my image by cavorting with the local educator, if it’s all the same to you. You know golf and I have...issues.”
“I volunteered to work at the food co-op and John just signed on to chair the Alternative Health Initiative at the hospital. You can’t just sit around on your ass all day eating bonbons. You have to help us build a positive image, and we both think you should start by befriending some of the more powerful women here.”
“We both? So what—you and John make all the decisions now?”
“Since all your decisions thus far have been made with your libido?” Kendra paused, her impeccable brows drawing together. Flash and bang was her normal style, so when her smile dropped and some of the energy waned, Whitney knew it was time to listen. “Yes. John and I are calling this shot. Don’t let this flirtation get you derailed.”
Whitney nodded firmly. Kendra was right. Career and life decisions that revolved around a man—even one as nonthreatening as Matt—were not acceptable. Whitney had already done that once, and it had provided enough angst to fuel a thousand teenage melodramas.
“Okay, I’ll golf,” Whitney said lightly. Kendra was right, and she
“Say what they will about beautification permits, I love this town. Did you know that they open the farmer’s market year-round? I just bought twelve varieties of winter squash.”
Whitney wrinkled her nose. “There are that many types of squash? Please tell me you bought them all for decoration.”
Her friend laughed and dropped all the bags on the kitchen island, bulbous vegetables in every color of orange and yellow spilling out. “They’re certified organic and delicious. You haven’t lived until you’ve tried my butternut soup.”
“Kendra, you know I love you, but vegetables are what food eats.” She turned back to her magazine, Plastic Surgery Practice , and resumed her perusal of pictures of the latest fractional laser system. “And I dare you to find anything in this town that isn’t organic. I’m pretty sure all the clothes in that little shop on the corner of Main—you know, the one that had that incredible pair of vegan boots—are made of hemp. That stuff makes me break out in hives. It’s like we wandered into some strange episode of the Twilight Zone where everyone feeds off the earth.”
“You said you liked this place.”
“I know I did. I just don’t like bugs in my food.”
Forget the problems with the local business bureau, which seemed to take offense that they hadn’t been consulted about the new clinic opening up. Forget conservative borough morals, which seemed to be so deeply ingrained the people here somehow forgot they were all the result of good, old-fashioned fornication.
Those were blips, problems to be overcome with a little charm and a few well-placed donations. What Whitney hadn’t planned for was the lifestyle, eco-friendly and pulsating with quaint charm. Kendra and John might love the chance to mingle with the salt of the earth, but Whitney preferred noise and giant bloody steaks and even the occasional drive-by shooting. She wanted her pesticides back. Give her chemicals or give her death.
“You know, John and I have been talking. It’s important that we all become part of the community if we intend to be accepted.” Kendra waved a phallic-shaped gourd at her. “You should join a team or something.”
“I am getting to know the people,” Whitney shot back. Okay, so it was only one person, but she’d definitely done her part to make herself memorable. In fact, she was rather hoping to do it again. Matt Fuller definitely...rose to a challenge.
“I don’t mean sleeping with Teacher Hottie to while away the time. I’m all for having a little fun, but I think you should join the Ladies Golf Club. Those women are our target market—you have to try and be one of them.”
Whitney shuddered. “I would much rather build my image by cavorting with the local educator, if it’s all the same to you. You know golf and I have...issues.”
“I volunteered to work at the food co-op and John just signed on to chair the Alternative Health Initiative at the hospital. You can’t just sit around on your ass all day eating bonbons. You have to help us build a positive image, and we both think you should start by befriending some of the more powerful women here.”
“We both? So what—you and John make all the decisions now?”
“Since all your decisions thus far have been made with your libido?” Kendra paused, her impeccable brows drawing together. Flash and bang was her normal style, so when her smile dropped and some of the energy waned, Whitney knew it was time to listen. “Yes. John and I are calling this shot. Don’t let this flirtation get you derailed.”
Whitney nodded firmly. Kendra was right. Career and life decisions that revolved around a man—even one as nonthreatening as Matt—were not acceptable. Whitney had already done that once, and it had provided enough angst to fuel a thousand teenage melodramas.
“Okay, I’ll golf,” Whitney said lightly. Kendra was right, and she
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