said in a singsong whisper.
I looked away. “Oh, stop.”
“All right, all right,” she conceded. “But, hey, at least you
have
an admirer.”
“So do you,” I added. “Do I need to bring up Rick in news?”
We both burst into laughter. Rick—sweet, yes, with a full mullet—had a long-suffering crush on Abby. Sadly, he had the charm of a red-foot tortoise—and lived with his parents.
Abby took a final sip of her coffee, then reached for her white puffy down thigh-length North Face coat. She zipped it up and grinned. “Does this thing make me look like the Michelin Man?”
“Do you want the truth?” I asked, trying to stifle a laugh.
She nodded.
“Sorta,” I said, letting a giggle slip through. “But at least you’re warm.”
She grinned. “Well, I better get this Michelin Man butt of mine into the office. Frank’s got me working on a stack of research for the Sunday paper, and you wouldn’t believe the requests Cassandra threw at me last night.”
Cassandra.
I cringed. Her name had a prickly feel to it. I wanted to say
ouch
when anyone said it aloud.
“The woman wants an entire tome on the city’s Italian restaurants in the 1980s and 90s,” Abby continued. “Food critics take themselves a
leetle
too seriously. Anyway, the only thing I’ve come up with thus far is a killer craving for baked ziti.”
I smiled. “Good luck with that.”
Abby glanced at Dominic across the room. “You staying here to work?”
“Nah,” I said, standing up. My eyes met Dominic’s. I quickly looked away. “I’ll head in with you. We can share a cab.”
“Knock, knock.”
I looked up from my computer to see Ethan standing in the doorway. “Hello, stranger,” he said stiffly, handing me an enormous bouquet of tulips, pink, white, orange, and yellow. Wrapped in brown butcher paper and tied with twine, they bore the telltale signs of the Pike Place Market.
I blinked hard, taking in a whiff of the pastel petals, letting their lemony sweetness momentarily intoxicate me. “They’re beautiful,” I said, coming to my senses again. “Thank you.”
“I was just passing through the Market, and I thought of you,” Ethan said, sliding into the guest chair. Tall, with broad shoulders, chestnut-brown hair, and a knee-weakening grin, he didn’t have to try to be charming. He just was. The grandson of the newspaper’s patriarch, Ethan had cut his teeth at a big newspaper back east, and when he walked into the
Herald
building so many years ago, the newly minted managing editor, I was attracted to him immediately. And I still was. But things were different now. We were once twopeople madly in love. And now? Well, I couldn’t even remember the last time we’d been intimate.
“That was sweet of you,” I said in a tone I normally used with coworkers. I heard the chime of an incoming e-mail and turned back to my computer.
“Oh,” he said, “are you on deadline?”
“No,” I said. “Well, yes, actually, sort of. Frank’s got me on a goose chase of a story, and I think I’m finally making headway on an angle that’s worth researching.”
Ethan stood up abruptly. “Well, I won’t keep you, then. I guess I’ll see you tonight at the gala?”
“The gala?”
“You didn’t forget, did you?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, confused. “I guess I did.”
Ethan frowned. “The Ronald McDonald House Charities gala,” he said. “The one my parents are chairing? My grandfather is being honored with the Lifetime Achievement Award tonight.” He sighed. “Claire, you’ve known about this for months.”
I
had
known about it for months. Hazily. I recalled talk of the event, and mostly fuss from Ethan’s mother, Glenda, about how I’d need to find a suitable, formal floor-length gown. I don’t do floor length, but my meek protest had been no match for Ethan’s mother.
“Oh, yeah,” I said blankly.
“Did you find a dress?”
“No,” I replied.
“Can you wear something you already
I looked away. “Oh, stop.”
“All right, all right,” she conceded. “But, hey, at least you
have
an admirer.”
“So do you,” I added. “Do I need to bring up Rick in news?”
We both burst into laughter. Rick—sweet, yes, with a full mullet—had a long-suffering crush on Abby. Sadly, he had the charm of a red-foot tortoise—and lived with his parents.
Abby took a final sip of her coffee, then reached for her white puffy down thigh-length North Face coat. She zipped it up and grinned. “Does this thing make me look like the Michelin Man?”
“Do you want the truth?” I asked, trying to stifle a laugh.
She nodded.
“Sorta,” I said, letting a giggle slip through. “But at least you’re warm.”
She grinned. “Well, I better get this Michelin Man butt of mine into the office. Frank’s got me working on a stack of research for the Sunday paper, and you wouldn’t believe the requests Cassandra threw at me last night.”
Cassandra.
I cringed. Her name had a prickly feel to it. I wanted to say
ouch
when anyone said it aloud.
“The woman wants an entire tome on the city’s Italian restaurants in the 1980s and 90s,” Abby continued. “Food critics take themselves a
leetle
too seriously. Anyway, the only thing I’ve come up with thus far is a killer craving for baked ziti.”
I smiled. “Good luck with that.”
Abby glanced at Dominic across the room. “You staying here to work?”
“Nah,” I said, standing up. My eyes met Dominic’s. I quickly looked away. “I’ll head in with you. We can share a cab.”
“Knock, knock.”
I looked up from my computer to see Ethan standing in the doorway. “Hello, stranger,” he said stiffly, handing me an enormous bouquet of tulips, pink, white, orange, and yellow. Wrapped in brown butcher paper and tied with twine, they bore the telltale signs of the Pike Place Market.
I blinked hard, taking in a whiff of the pastel petals, letting their lemony sweetness momentarily intoxicate me. “They’re beautiful,” I said, coming to my senses again. “Thank you.”
“I was just passing through the Market, and I thought of you,” Ethan said, sliding into the guest chair. Tall, with broad shoulders, chestnut-brown hair, and a knee-weakening grin, he didn’t have to try to be charming. He just was. The grandson of the newspaper’s patriarch, Ethan had cut his teeth at a big newspaper back east, and when he walked into the
Herald
building so many years ago, the newly minted managing editor, I was attracted to him immediately. And I still was. But things were different now. We were once twopeople madly in love. And now? Well, I couldn’t even remember the last time we’d been intimate.
“That was sweet of you,” I said in a tone I normally used with coworkers. I heard the chime of an incoming e-mail and turned back to my computer.
“Oh,” he said, “are you on deadline?”
“No,” I said. “Well, yes, actually, sort of. Frank’s got me on a goose chase of a story, and I think I’m finally making headway on an angle that’s worth researching.”
Ethan stood up abruptly. “Well, I won’t keep you, then. I guess I’ll see you tonight at the gala?”
“The gala?”
“You didn’t forget, did you?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, confused. “I guess I did.”
Ethan frowned. “The Ronald McDonald House Charities gala,” he said. “The one my parents are chairing? My grandfather is being honored with the Lifetime Achievement Award tonight.” He sighed. “Claire, you’ve known about this for months.”
I
had
known about it for months. Hazily. I recalled talk of the event, and mostly fuss from Ethan’s mother, Glenda, about how I’d need to find a suitable, formal floor-length gown. I don’t do floor length, but my meek protest had been no match for Ethan’s mother.
“Oh, yeah,” I said blankly.
“Did you find a dress?”
“No,” I replied.
“Can you wear something you already
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