magic.”
Ridelle handed over the coat with a demure smile. She noticed he wore no wedding ring, just a wide onyx and diamond band on the opposite finger. No tan lines for this bad boy’s “I’m taken” finger. Convenient.
When he was gone, Ridelle cocked her head at Fran and waved a hand in front of her face. “Did your mouth disappear somewhere? I could swear you had a voice when I was standing outside listening to him treat you like a used dishrag.”
Fran blinked and widened her eyes. “I just can’t believe how great you look. You don’t even look like you!”
“ So if I look great, I don’t look like me? Not quite sure how to take that. I think it was a compliment.”
Fran managed a guilty smile. “You know what I mean. It’s just that you don’t usually wear dresses. Especially knockouts like this one. I mean, wow!”
“ Yeah, I’m flippin’ amazing.” Her voice turned pleading. “You don’t think it’s too much?”
“ I think it’s too much—and perfect. His eyes nearly jumped out of his head when you slung off your coat.”
“ The jiggle wasn’t too obvious? I’m not what one might call savvy at this flirting stuff.”
Fran’s laugh bounced back and forth across the room. “Honey, you’re a flirting black belt. When this is all over I may want lessons from you.”
She looked down at her own attire—a smudged apron covered a sleeveless cocktail dress with a high turquoise neck in dotted Swiss, and a white above-the-knee skirt. Her hair, rusty in the overhead lighting, fell in similar waves to Ridelle’s own, but was caught back by a pair of sterling silver hair combs. “In fact, compared to me you’ll be quite a step up for him.”
Ridelle frowned and took Fran by slender wrists. “Completely untrue. No more of that kind of bull talk, okay? You’re a vision, even in an apron. Glamorous and more sophisticated than I’ll ever look on my best day.”
Fran looked out from under thick lashes, her expression dark and unreadable. “It’s just kind of weird, knowing what might happen here. You know?”
Ridelle gripped the woman’s wrists tighter. “Hey, if you don’t want me to do this, just say the word. You mean a lot to me. Hell, I wouldn’t be doing this if you didn’t.”
“ No! No.” Fran stepped back. “I’m grateful to have a friend willing to take this on. Please don’t think otherwise.”
Her eyes glittered just as dampness pricked at Ridelle’s. The latter grabbed her in a sudden and furious hug, whispering into her ear. “We’re going to get through this, and life’s going to be so much better when we do. Okay?”
The redhead nodded, and the girls pulled apart. “Now, when’s Twyla getting here? She’s not planning to wait until we do all the hard stuff, is she?”
As if hearing Ridelle’s thoughts, the squeak of anti-lock brakes sounded just outside the door. Fran’s pointy white pumps clicked a rapid Morse code over to the door, while Ridelle clicked at a slower pace just behind.
Twyla was unloading the back of the Cherokee. “Sorry. The sitter was late and I had to run out to LA Maison for some Brie and Swiss.”
“ Looks like you bought out the place. Need help?” Ridelle didn’t await an answer before reaching in to lend a hand at wrangling a truckload of foodstuffs.
Twyla turned to respond and gasped, barely holding onto a paper grocery sack. “In that dress? I think not. Oh my God, Ridelle, you’re gorgeous!”
The girl flushed as another swirl of breeze rustled the lower edge of her skirt. “What, this old thing I swore would never escape the closet again?”
Twyla’s eyes ran up in down in a wild maneuver. “Cassini?”
“ Dina Bartel.”
“ Nice.”
The three grabbed a handful and hauled the goods inside. Fran hefted a sack onto the counter. “Careful, the eggs are in there,” Twyla said.
Fran nodded. “Andy’s working? I thought he’s off on holidays now?”
“ He was, but this is some new torture
Ridelle handed over the coat with a demure smile. She noticed he wore no wedding ring, just a wide onyx and diamond band on the opposite finger. No tan lines for this bad boy’s “I’m taken” finger. Convenient.
When he was gone, Ridelle cocked her head at Fran and waved a hand in front of her face. “Did your mouth disappear somewhere? I could swear you had a voice when I was standing outside listening to him treat you like a used dishrag.”
Fran blinked and widened her eyes. “I just can’t believe how great you look. You don’t even look like you!”
“ So if I look great, I don’t look like me? Not quite sure how to take that. I think it was a compliment.”
Fran managed a guilty smile. “You know what I mean. It’s just that you don’t usually wear dresses. Especially knockouts like this one. I mean, wow!”
“ Yeah, I’m flippin’ amazing.” Her voice turned pleading. “You don’t think it’s too much?”
“ I think it’s too much—and perfect. His eyes nearly jumped out of his head when you slung off your coat.”
“ The jiggle wasn’t too obvious? I’m not what one might call savvy at this flirting stuff.”
Fran’s laugh bounced back and forth across the room. “Honey, you’re a flirting black belt. When this is all over I may want lessons from you.”
She looked down at her own attire—a smudged apron covered a sleeveless cocktail dress with a high turquoise neck in dotted Swiss, and a white above-the-knee skirt. Her hair, rusty in the overhead lighting, fell in similar waves to Ridelle’s own, but was caught back by a pair of sterling silver hair combs. “In fact, compared to me you’ll be quite a step up for him.”
Ridelle frowned and took Fran by slender wrists. “Completely untrue. No more of that kind of bull talk, okay? You’re a vision, even in an apron. Glamorous and more sophisticated than I’ll ever look on my best day.”
Fran looked out from under thick lashes, her expression dark and unreadable. “It’s just kind of weird, knowing what might happen here. You know?”
Ridelle gripped the woman’s wrists tighter. “Hey, if you don’t want me to do this, just say the word. You mean a lot to me. Hell, I wouldn’t be doing this if you didn’t.”
“ No! No.” Fran stepped back. “I’m grateful to have a friend willing to take this on. Please don’t think otherwise.”
Her eyes glittered just as dampness pricked at Ridelle’s. The latter grabbed her in a sudden and furious hug, whispering into her ear. “We’re going to get through this, and life’s going to be so much better when we do. Okay?”
The redhead nodded, and the girls pulled apart. “Now, when’s Twyla getting here? She’s not planning to wait until we do all the hard stuff, is she?”
As if hearing Ridelle’s thoughts, the squeak of anti-lock brakes sounded just outside the door. Fran’s pointy white pumps clicked a rapid Morse code over to the door, while Ridelle clicked at a slower pace just behind.
Twyla was unloading the back of the Cherokee. “Sorry. The sitter was late and I had to run out to LA Maison for some Brie and Swiss.”
“ Looks like you bought out the place. Need help?” Ridelle didn’t await an answer before reaching in to lend a hand at wrangling a truckload of foodstuffs.
Twyla turned to respond and gasped, barely holding onto a paper grocery sack. “In that dress? I think not. Oh my God, Ridelle, you’re gorgeous!”
The girl flushed as another swirl of breeze rustled the lower edge of her skirt. “What, this old thing I swore would never escape the closet again?”
Twyla’s eyes ran up in down in a wild maneuver. “Cassini?”
“ Dina Bartel.”
“ Nice.”
The three grabbed a handful and hauled the goods inside. Fran hefted a sack onto the counter. “Careful, the eggs are in there,” Twyla said.
Fran nodded. “Andy’s working? I thought he’s off on holidays now?”
“ He was, but this is some new torture
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