7 Days and 7 Nights by Wendy Wax Page B

middle of her section. Then he put his feet on “her” half of the cocktail table and looked up into her eyes. “Tell me, Olivia, just what is it about me that scares you so?” He took another swig of beer while he considered her from beneath hooded eyes.
    â€œDon’t flatter yourself, Matt. I just want to be sure you understand what’s acceptable. Take dressing and undressing, for example.”
    â€œYou’re planning to tell me when to dress and undress?” He set his beer down and flipped through the sheaf of papers. “I can’t wait to see this diagram.”
    â€œThere is no visual aid because there’s only one rule: If you’re not dressed, you need to be behind closed doors. In a word, no flashing.” Lord knew she didn’t need the temptation.
    â€œWell, you’ve certainly spent a lot of energy thinking all this out, Olivia. It’s very . . . industrious of you.” He paused. “I’ll be sure and give your suggestions the consideration they deserve.”
    He folded the sheaf of papers in half, doubled them over once more, and shoved the whole wad into the back pocket of his jeans. Then he cocked his head in her direction and said, “I guess getting you to put on that thong would be out of the question right now?”

6
    Lunchtime at the Magnolia Diner was no time for deep thought, a fact JoBeth appreciated at this particular point in her life. She’d already wasted an inordinate amount of time worrying over her relationship with Dawg Rollins, and an embarrassing amount in tears since she’d moved out two days ago. Crying over her disappointments was a luxury she’d never before allowed herself, and she wasn’t wild about the idea now. She might not have a whole lot else, but she’d always had her pride.
    Hefting her loaded tray high over one shoulder, JoBeth snatched up a fresh pot of coffee with her free hand and backed through the swinging door. Before she swung around to face her waiting customers, she found and put on her brightest smile. A good waitress didn’t bring her personal problems to work. And she didn’t slack off because some fool man had gone and mangled her heart.
    â€œHey, Bert.” One-handed, she set the tray on a serving stand and commenced to dole out the food, refilling coffee mugs as she worked her way around the table of four. “How’s that new grandbaby of yours?”
    â€œJust fine, darlin’. Head looks kind of like a bowling ball to me, but my Darcy’s real proud of him.”
    â€œThat’s great.” JoBeth fought off a brief stab of envy at Darcy’s good fortune. “You tell her to bring that boy in here soon. I want to have a look at him.”
    â€œYou know I will.”
    Whipping her order pad out of the front pocket of her starched white apron, JoBeth pulled a gnarled pencil from behind her ear and moved on to the next table.
    â€œHey, Homer, Myra. You gonna have the fried chicken today?” She scribbled out their ticket and slipped her pencil back behind her ear as she contemplated the white-haired McCauleys holding hands in their favorite booth. JoBeth tried to imagine herself and Dawg snuggling in a corner booth somewhere thirty or forty years from now, but the picture just wouldn’t come.
    Blinking back tears, she swapped the coffeepot for a pitcher of sweet tea and leaned over to pour the elderly couple’s drinks. “You leave some room for dessert now, you hear? Ina made her strawberry rhubarb pie today.”
    With calm precision, JoBeth worked her tables, taking orders, refilling drinks, chatting up the regulars. There was comfort in the routine tasks, satisfaction in the occasional appreciative glance sent her way. Her fortieth birthday had come and gone, but L’Oréal kept her short red curls free of the evil gray intruders, and she liked to believe that the fine lines now radiating outward from the corners of