with you. If he had been, he wouldn’t have dragged his feet about asking you to that masquerade ball back in February.”
“Hey, that’s right.”
“Of course, I’m right. I’m always right. I’m your mother. Plus, I work in Hollywood. I can always tell true emotions from shallow attractions . . . no matter how real others—even some of the ones with the feelings—believe them to be.”
I laughed, relieved because I knew Mom was right. “Oh, Mom, I love you.”
“I know,” she said, laughter evident in her voice. “And I love you.”
“I know,” I replied. “You’re not the only one with insights and inside information.”
Chapter Six
A fter talking withMom, I logged on to my computer and did an Internet search for professional treasure hunters on the Pacific coast. There weren’t any Web sites I could find for individual treasure hunters, but I did find a professional association page. I clicked through to the discussion forum and read enough to learn that while some of the treasure seekers limited their efforts to trolling beaches with metal detectors, some were actually in the business of finding and salvaging ships. I registered as a guest and asked if anyone on the forum had ever spoken with Chester Cantor about helping him with a project off the coast of Tallulah Falls, Oregon. I left my e-mail address—marcys@7yrstitch—for interested respondents to contact me. The fact remained that the Cantor family had financial problems and that Chester had died wanting to alleviate them. I’d promised to help him. I intended to keep my promise.
After I’d finished trolling the Internet for treasure hunters, I looked for a way to facilitate the Fabergé egg project. I didn’t have much luck and decided this might take some creative thinking on my part. Unfortunately, I didn’t have much time to invest in it today since it was half past four. I dusted the furniture in between waiting on customers while that half hour crawled by.
Finally, it was five o’clock, the moment I’d been anxiously waiting for all day. I hustled Angus into the Jeep, and we headed home to get ready for my date with Ted . . . my
first
date with Ted in a sense. I mean, I realized I’d been out with Ted before, but our relationship had taken a turn—a whirl? a spin?—this morning. So, in a way, this date really was a first. It was special.
I wondered what to wear. We were having dinner at his house, so I didn’t want to dress formally. But I didn’t want to dress too casually either.
I giggled. “I’ve got a boyfriend, Angus!”
From the backseat, he woofed his approval before slurping my ear with his tongue.
We were at a stoplight, so I briefly hugged his face to mine with one hand while keeping the other firmly on the steering wheel. “You know you’re still the head honcho around here, though.”
He opened his mouth in what appeared to be a wide grin before the light turned and I had to focus my attention on the road again.
When I got home, I fed Angus and then hurried upstairs to turn on the water in the bathtub. The entire time the tub was filling, I was standing in front of my closet. I must’ve pulled out and returned every article of clothing in it at least twice. I finally decided on black trousers, a gray silk blouse, and strappy silver sandals. I was grateful I’d given myself a pedicure midway through the week.
After choosing my outfit, I rushed to the bathroom and had to drain a couple of inches of water from the tub so it wouldn’t overflow when I got in. How great would that have been for Ted to come and catch me soaked, disheveled, and frantically running the wet vac?
I took a deep breath, sank into the tub, and used my favorite scented bath gel. It was wonderfully floral and romantic, and it calmed my jagged nerves.
It was ridiculous to be so nervous about this date with Ted . . . and, yet, I was. I wanted everything to be perfect. I wanted to be certain I’d made the right
“Hey, that’s right.”
“Of course, I’m right. I’m always right. I’m your mother. Plus, I work in Hollywood. I can always tell true emotions from shallow attractions . . . no matter how real others—even some of the ones with the feelings—believe them to be.”
I laughed, relieved because I knew Mom was right. “Oh, Mom, I love you.”
“I know,” she said, laughter evident in her voice. “And I love you.”
“I know,” I replied. “You’re not the only one with insights and inside information.”
Chapter Six
A fter talking withMom, I logged on to my computer and did an Internet search for professional treasure hunters on the Pacific coast. There weren’t any Web sites I could find for individual treasure hunters, but I did find a professional association page. I clicked through to the discussion forum and read enough to learn that while some of the treasure seekers limited their efforts to trolling beaches with metal detectors, some were actually in the business of finding and salvaging ships. I registered as a guest and asked if anyone on the forum had ever spoken with Chester Cantor about helping him with a project off the coast of Tallulah Falls, Oregon. I left my e-mail address—marcys@7yrstitch—for interested respondents to contact me. The fact remained that the Cantor family had financial problems and that Chester had died wanting to alleviate them. I’d promised to help him. I intended to keep my promise.
After I’d finished trolling the Internet for treasure hunters, I looked for a way to facilitate the Fabergé egg project. I didn’t have much luck and decided this might take some creative thinking on my part. Unfortunately, I didn’t have much time to invest in it today since it was half past four. I dusted the furniture in between waiting on customers while that half hour crawled by.
Finally, it was five o’clock, the moment I’d been anxiously waiting for all day. I hustled Angus into the Jeep, and we headed home to get ready for my date with Ted . . . my
first
date with Ted in a sense. I mean, I realized I’d been out with Ted before, but our relationship had taken a turn—a whirl? a spin?—this morning. So, in a way, this date really was a first. It was special.
I wondered what to wear. We were having dinner at his house, so I didn’t want to dress formally. But I didn’t want to dress too casually either.
I giggled. “I’ve got a boyfriend, Angus!”
From the backseat, he woofed his approval before slurping my ear with his tongue.
We were at a stoplight, so I briefly hugged his face to mine with one hand while keeping the other firmly on the steering wheel. “You know you’re still the head honcho around here, though.”
He opened his mouth in what appeared to be a wide grin before the light turned and I had to focus my attention on the road again.
When I got home, I fed Angus and then hurried upstairs to turn on the water in the bathtub. The entire time the tub was filling, I was standing in front of my closet. I must’ve pulled out and returned every article of clothing in it at least twice. I finally decided on black trousers, a gray silk blouse, and strappy silver sandals. I was grateful I’d given myself a pedicure midway through the week.
After choosing my outfit, I rushed to the bathroom and had to drain a couple of inches of water from the tub so it wouldn’t overflow when I got in. How great would that have been for Ted to come and catch me soaked, disheveled, and frantically running the wet vac?
I took a deep breath, sank into the tub, and used my favorite scented bath gel. It was wonderfully floral and romantic, and it calmed my jagged nerves.
It was ridiculous to be so nervous about this date with Ted . . . and, yet, I was. I wanted everything to be perfect. I wanted to be certain I’d made the right
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