You?”
“Not yet.”
“Haven’t met Mr. Right?”
I laugh. “Oh, sure I did. Turned out to be Mr. Wrong.”
He stares at me for a long second. “I saw you talking to Joley in Sizzler.”
He was in Sizzler? “She wants me to emcee the class reunion.”
“Will you? I told her to ask you.”
“You?”
“I’m reunion coordinator this time. Don’t ask me how I got roped into it. Did you get Alisa’s flyer?”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact.” I regard him for a moment, seeing a new side to him. “Why me as emcee? And don’t say because I was voted most likely to succeed.”
He slips his hands into his pockets, rolls his big shoulders forward and looks away. “I wanted to have the prettiest and the smartest, that’s all.”
The prettiest? Did he just say prettiest? Is there roomto swoon? Can I swoon without it looking like another pratfall?
“We’re proud of you.” He regards me openly.
We? We who? We as in the plural of Dylan, we?
“I wasn’t the smartest, Dylan.”
“No, but the smartest and the prettiest.”
That’s it. I’m swooning. I glance around, but can’t find a place to light. “When is the reunion again? I may have a business trip scheduled.”
“Fourth of July weekend. Surely you’re not booked then.”
Surely I’m not, but I just can’t say yes when my life is sagging. If I could get a new job, I could emcee with dignity, but who knows what the next few months will bring. “I just don’t know, Dylan.”
“Say yes.” He grips my hand again and peers right into my eyes.
I blurt out, “Yes. Yes, I’ll do it.” I’m an idiot.
“Good. And by the way—” he nods toward his truck “—it has a hemi.” He winks.
Meltdown complete.
Monday morning I stride toward my sunny corner office with my confidence reservoir up a fraction. My trip to Miller Glassware was a moderate success, I had a nice weekend in Beauty and—blow the trumpets—Dylan Braun called me pretty.
I dock my laptop and boot up, carefully store my bag in the bottom desk drawer and flop into my chair. Despite recent upsets, being in my office gives me a sense of normalcy, as if the world is right side up again.
Wearing a pair of rustic red capris, I feel light and breezy. This is the feeling I wanted yesterday when Dylan watched me tumble into a pile of trash. I wince at the mental instant replay. Bless Dylan for not letting loose with a knee-slapping belly laugh.
Attila the Hun pops her giant blond head around my door. “Hello, Macy.”
“Roni.” Her presence makes me queasy.
“Be sure to file a report on your Miller trip, and we need your input on the Holloway proposal.” She waits for my okay.
“Sure,” I say without looking up. I’m feeling very passive-aggressive today. Sure, I’ll do it. Next week. Maybe.
Once Roni is out of earshot, I autodial Lucy. One ring and she picks up. “Lucy O’Brien.”
“Hey.”
“How was Beauty?”
“Believe it or not, great.” I peruse work e-mail, reading and deleting.
Holloway Proposal. Delete.
“Wonders never cease.”
“Oh, you of little faith.”
I click on the Delete folder and retrieve the Holloway proposal. So Roni is a self-promoting shrew—it doesn’t mean I should stoop to her level. I do not want to be like her when I grow up.
“I never understood why you were so desperate to leave home. Beauty is a wonderful, cozy little town,” Lucy says.
“I talked to Joley McGowan at Sizzler.” I smile, knowing she’s going to die when I tell her the news.
“What’d she want?” Lucy, sweet Lucy who loves everyone, never cared much for Joley on account of my crush on Dylan and the fact that Joley dated him.
“She wants me to emcee the class reunion.” I recline back in my desk chair and gaze out the window. I see nothing but blue skies and the tops of green palms.
“Are you going to do it?”
“I told her maybe.” Never mind what I told Dylan. I attended reunions five and ten strutting around like a proud
“Not yet.”
“Haven’t met Mr. Right?”
I laugh. “Oh, sure I did. Turned out to be Mr. Wrong.”
He stares at me for a long second. “I saw you talking to Joley in Sizzler.”
He was in Sizzler? “She wants me to emcee the class reunion.”
“Will you? I told her to ask you.”
“You?”
“I’m reunion coordinator this time. Don’t ask me how I got roped into it. Did you get Alisa’s flyer?”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact.” I regard him for a moment, seeing a new side to him. “Why me as emcee? And don’t say because I was voted most likely to succeed.”
He slips his hands into his pockets, rolls his big shoulders forward and looks away. “I wanted to have the prettiest and the smartest, that’s all.”
The prettiest? Did he just say prettiest? Is there roomto swoon? Can I swoon without it looking like another pratfall?
“We’re proud of you.” He regards me openly.
We? We who? We as in the plural of Dylan, we?
“I wasn’t the smartest, Dylan.”
“No, but the smartest and the prettiest.”
That’s it. I’m swooning. I glance around, but can’t find a place to light. “When is the reunion again? I may have a business trip scheduled.”
“Fourth of July weekend. Surely you’re not booked then.”
Surely I’m not, but I just can’t say yes when my life is sagging. If I could get a new job, I could emcee with dignity, but who knows what the next few months will bring. “I just don’t know, Dylan.”
“Say yes.” He grips my hand again and peers right into my eyes.
I blurt out, “Yes. Yes, I’ll do it.” I’m an idiot.
“Good. And by the way—” he nods toward his truck “—it has a hemi.” He winks.
Meltdown complete.
Monday morning I stride toward my sunny corner office with my confidence reservoir up a fraction. My trip to Miller Glassware was a moderate success, I had a nice weekend in Beauty and—blow the trumpets—Dylan Braun called me pretty.
I dock my laptop and boot up, carefully store my bag in the bottom desk drawer and flop into my chair. Despite recent upsets, being in my office gives me a sense of normalcy, as if the world is right side up again.
Wearing a pair of rustic red capris, I feel light and breezy. This is the feeling I wanted yesterday when Dylan watched me tumble into a pile of trash. I wince at the mental instant replay. Bless Dylan for not letting loose with a knee-slapping belly laugh.
Attila the Hun pops her giant blond head around my door. “Hello, Macy.”
“Roni.” Her presence makes me queasy.
“Be sure to file a report on your Miller trip, and we need your input on the Holloway proposal.” She waits for my okay.
“Sure,” I say without looking up. I’m feeling very passive-aggressive today. Sure, I’ll do it. Next week. Maybe.
Once Roni is out of earshot, I autodial Lucy. One ring and she picks up. “Lucy O’Brien.”
“Hey.”
“How was Beauty?”
“Believe it or not, great.” I peruse work e-mail, reading and deleting.
Holloway Proposal. Delete.
“Wonders never cease.”
“Oh, you of little faith.”
I click on the Delete folder and retrieve the Holloway proposal. So Roni is a self-promoting shrew—it doesn’t mean I should stoop to her level. I do not want to be like her when I grow up.
“I never understood why you were so desperate to leave home. Beauty is a wonderful, cozy little town,” Lucy says.
“I talked to Joley McGowan at Sizzler.” I smile, knowing she’s going to die when I tell her the news.
“What’d she want?” Lucy, sweet Lucy who loves everyone, never cared much for Joley on account of my crush on Dylan and the fact that Joley dated him.
“She wants me to emcee the class reunion.” I recline back in my desk chair and gaze out the window. I see nothing but blue skies and the tops of green palms.
“Are you going to do it?”
“I told her maybe.” Never mind what I told Dylan. I attended reunions five and ten strutting around like a proud
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