least Richard had solved her dilemma about walking around naked. Lindy bundled the sheet around her and scuttled across the hall to her own loft quickly, just catching the end of the message being left on her answering machine. It was Stella, her best buyer, her mentor, wondering where Lindy was because she’d missed their scheduled meeting that morning.
“That’s what I forgot!” Lindy cried out loud, and cursed as she dashed to her closet to throw on the first clean clothes she found. By the time she flew back into Richard’s loft, purloined sheet streaming behind her like a banner, Richard was standing in the kitchen wearing gym shorts and a t-shirt. He still looked sexily tousled, and the indulgent smile he gave her was enough to make her want to throw him back into bed.
Lindy’s heart gave a little lurch as she reminded herself that Richard was just a friend, no matter what they had done the previous night. He had been helping her out, that was all. He was not her sexy bed-head standing there making coffee and bedroom eyes. He was just a sexy bed-head. And his eyes looked like that all the time.
“I can’t stay, I’m sorry,” she explained, slinging the sheet over a barstool. It slithered off, and she picked it up and bundled it tighter, shoving it back on the seat firmly.
“Is everything okay?”
“I’m late for a meeting with Stella. I was supposed to be there at eight. It’s after nine now, she’ll be opening in another hour, so I really have to go.”
“You could call and reschedule.” He sounded so reasonable. Or rather, he sounded like he was trying very hard to be reasonable in the face of some stronger emotion. Lindy was confused by that, but in too big a hurry to stop and figure it out.
“Yeah, no, I really need to go. Because, you know, it’s really important.” Mentally smacking herself on the head, she added, “Not that this isn’t important. Wasn’t important. It was! It was really, really…”
She struggled for an adequate adjective for another few seconds, finally snapping her mouth shut without squeezing out another word. She couldn’t think, couldn’t get her brain to operate on any subject other than the one she was so feverishly eager to avoid this morning.
“Nice?” suggested Richard. “Look, I’m sure she’ll understand, Lindy. And what’s the point of racing across town? You won’t even get there until she’s almost ready to open. Just reschedule it and stay for breakfast.”
“I had planned this all out for tonight , not last night,” Lindy said, a little forlorn. “This is just not turning out the way I thought it would.” Looking down at her shoes, Lindy missed the expression of concern that flickered over Richard’s face. “I really do have to go though.”
“So go,” he said a little brusquely, turning back to the coffee, scooping grounds from a canister into the filter top. “I’ll just have to make my own pancakes.”
She looked up at him, confused and a little hurt at his sharp tone. “Are you getting pissy with me about this? Seriously?”
“No. Maybe it’s just not turning out the way I planned either, you know?”
“Why, because you’re having to cook your own pancakes?”
“And bacon.” He reached into a lower cabinet and yanked out a heavy skillet, smacking it down on the stove with more force than was wise. “Don’t forget the bacon.”
“I’m sorry my job is interfering with your domestic plans for me. These things happen,” Lindy said coldly. “I’m not that great a cook anyway, but I’d be happy to give you ten bucks and draw you a map to the nearest pancake place.” She was aware the conversation had nothing to do with pancakes or bacon, and she wished she knew what it actually was about because then she might know why she suddenly felt such an urge to either slap Richard or burst into tears. Or both.
He saved it, though, and later Lindy would look back and realize how marvelous it was that he had known how
“That’s what I forgot!” Lindy cried out loud, and cursed as she dashed to her closet to throw on the first clean clothes she found. By the time she flew back into Richard’s loft, purloined sheet streaming behind her like a banner, Richard was standing in the kitchen wearing gym shorts and a t-shirt. He still looked sexily tousled, and the indulgent smile he gave her was enough to make her want to throw him back into bed.
Lindy’s heart gave a little lurch as she reminded herself that Richard was just a friend, no matter what they had done the previous night. He had been helping her out, that was all. He was not her sexy bed-head standing there making coffee and bedroom eyes. He was just a sexy bed-head. And his eyes looked like that all the time.
“I can’t stay, I’m sorry,” she explained, slinging the sheet over a barstool. It slithered off, and she picked it up and bundled it tighter, shoving it back on the seat firmly.
“Is everything okay?”
“I’m late for a meeting with Stella. I was supposed to be there at eight. It’s after nine now, she’ll be opening in another hour, so I really have to go.”
“You could call and reschedule.” He sounded so reasonable. Or rather, he sounded like he was trying very hard to be reasonable in the face of some stronger emotion. Lindy was confused by that, but in too big a hurry to stop and figure it out.
“Yeah, no, I really need to go. Because, you know, it’s really important.” Mentally smacking herself on the head, she added, “Not that this isn’t important. Wasn’t important. It was! It was really, really…”
She struggled for an adequate adjective for another few seconds, finally snapping her mouth shut without squeezing out another word. She couldn’t think, couldn’t get her brain to operate on any subject other than the one she was so feverishly eager to avoid this morning.
“Nice?” suggested Richard. “Look, I’m sure she’ll understand, Lindy. And what’s the point of racing across town? You won’t even get there until she’s almost ready to open. Just reschedule it and stay for breakfast.”
“I had planned this all out for tonight , not last night,” Lindy said, a little forlorn. “This is just not turning out the way I thought it would.” Looking down at her shoes, Lindy missed the expression of concern that flickered over Richard’s face. “I really do have to go though.”
“So go,” he said a little brusquely, turning back to the coffee, scooping grounds from a canister into the filter top. “I’ll just have to make my own pancakes.”
She looked up at him, confused and a little hurt at his sharp tone. “Are you getting pissy with me about this? Seriously?”
“No. Maybe it’s just not turning out the way I planned either, you know?”
“Why, because you’re having to cook your own pancakes?”
“And bacon.” He reached into a lower cabinet and yanked out a heavy skillet, smacking it down on the stove with more force than was wise. “Don’t forget the bacon.”
“I’m sorry my job is interfering with your domestic plans for me. These things happen,” Lindy said coldly. “I’m not that great a cook anyway, but I’d be happy to give you ten bucks and draw you a map to the nearest pancake place.” She was aware the conversation had nothing to do with pancakes or bacon, and she wished she knew what it actually was about because then she might know why she suddenly felt such an urge to either slap Richard or burst into tears. Or both.
He saved it, though, and later Lindy would look back and realize how marvelous it was that he had known how
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