Size Matters (Handcuffs and Happily Ever Afters) by Robyn Peterman Page A
Authors: Robyn Peterman
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ago.”
I blew out a long breath and looked around. “I’d have her come in and work the TV off if I didn’t think she’d demolish the entire shelter in the process.”
Louise laughed and began sorting clothes. Sitting down next to her, I started making lists. Lists made me feel sane, not that I followed them. But in the tsunami that was my life, I was grasping at anything.
“I suppose I could call around and see if anyone would donate a computer and television,” I said wearily. “I’ll bring my old laptop over and set it up so we can still help these gals learn to use the Internet. I got it last year, so of course, it’s almost obsolete.” I rolled my eyes.
“You’re supposed to be on vacation,” Louise chided. “You should be going out on romantic dates with Ethan.”
“Nathan.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Ethan’s name is Nathan,” I said, leveling her with a look.
“Back up,” she groaned, “that jack-off gave you the wrong name?”
“Nope. Apparently he was too polite to correct my faux pas.”
“Creepy.” She shuddered and stopped folding. “Are you still . . .”
“Nope.” I cut her off. “Turns out Ethan/Nathan was married, also dating the mayor’s wife, and a devoted Dallas Cowboys fan. Jack knocked his lights out and dumped him for me.”
Louise was speechless.
“Oh, and I never poked him,” I added before she asked.
“Well, thank baby Moses in a basket for that,” she said, shaking her head in shock. “I think you need to pick another profession for your dating pool.”
Mitch flitted through my mind and I firmly grabbed his shapely man-butt and shoved him to the very, very back. “I couldn’t agree with you more.”
“Anyway,” she continued, “I never liked that guy. He was so damn polite and well . . . creepy.”
“Why didn’t you say anything when I was dating him?” I demanded.
Louise burst out laughing and shook her head. “ Creepy is a kill-the-messenger word. I don’t get into your private business, young lady.”
“Well, next time I would greatly appreciate it if you would,” I huffed, trying not to grin. “If I show up with someone creepy, psychotic, or, god forbid, polite, I want you to smack some sense into me. Deal?”
“Deal. Just don’t show up here with another cop. Now get your bad self out of here. I have about ten volunteers coming in to get this place all spick-and-span. You are officially on vacation . . . starting now. Go.”
“I’m gone,” I said, ducking to avoid the wad of clothes she tossed at me. “Hey, Louise . . .”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, sweetie.”
Today was the day of “I don’t want to do it, but I have to.” As I pulled up to A Stitch in Time, I thought about what Louise had said. She was right. No. More. Cops. Mitch was trouble. He was another in a long line of stupidly hot cops who were going to either break my heart or destroy every bit of self-confidence I owned . . . and I needed my confidence. I had to deal with the vicious sisters.
I laid my head on the steering wheel and blew out a frustrated breath. Suck it up, baby. Grandma had left me a beautiful building with three thriving businesses inside. The responsibility was overwhelming, but clearly Grandma thought I could do it . . . and I could. I would deal with Mrs. C and Edith. I would make sure the icky accountants and the wonderful Steves were happy renting from me. My God, I didn’t have any real problems. I had a great life, great friends, a business that made a difference . . . and shitty taste in men. That, too, I could change—and I would. I pasted a smile on my face, got out of my car, and was greeted with hysterical squawking. Crapitty-crapcrap . . .
“Thank the gay Lord above,” Short Fat Steve yelled, running out of the salon and straight at me. “It’s just awful,” he shrieked. “My Steve is going to get his pepper spray and blind them. If he does that, he’ll go to jail and we’re going
I blew out a long breath and looked around. “I’d have her come in and work the TV off if I didn’t think she’d demolish the entire shelter in the process.”
Louise laughed and began sorting clothes. Sitting down next to her, I started making lists. Lists made me feel sane, not that I followed them. But in the tsunami that was my life, I was grasping at anything.
“I suppose I could call around and see if anyone would donate a computer and television,” I said wearily. “I’ll bring my old laptop over and set it up so we can still help these gals learn to use the Internet. I got it last year, so of course, it’s almost obsolete.” I rolled my eyes.
“You’re supposed to be on vacation,” Louise chided. “You should be going out on romantic dates with Ethan.”
“Nathan.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Ethan’s name is Nathan,” I said, leveling her with a look.
“Back up,” she groaned, “that jack-off gave you the wrong name?”
“Nope. Apparently he was too polite to correct my faux pas.”
“Creepy.” She shuddered and stopped folding. “Are you still . . .”
“Nope.” I cut her off. “Turns out Ethan/Nathan was married, also dating the mayor’s wife, and a devoted Dallas Cowboys fan. Jack knocked his lights out and dumped him for me.”
Louise was speechless.
“Oh, and I never poked him,” I added before she asked.
“Well, thank baby Moses in a basket for that,” she said, shaking her head in shock. “I think you need to pick another profession for your dating pool.”
Mitch flitted through my mind and I firmly grabbed his shapely man-butt and shoved him to the very, very back. “I couldn’t agree with you more.”
“Anyway,” she continued, “I never liked that guy. He was so damn polite and well . . . creepy.”
“Why didn’t you say anything when I was dating him?” I demanded.
Louise burst out laughing and shook her head. “ Creepy is a kill-the-messenger word. I don’t get into your private business, young lady.”
“Well, next time I would greatly appreciate it if you would,” I huffed, trying not to grin. “If I show up with someone creepy, psychotic, or, god forbid, polite, I want you to smack some sense into me. Deal?”
“Deal. Just don’t show up here with another cop. Now get your bad self out of here. I have about ten volunteers coming in to get this place all spick-and-span. You are officially on vacation . . . starting now. Go.”
“I’m gone,” I said, ducking to avoid the wad of clothes she tossed at me. “Hey, Louise . . .”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, sweetie.”
Today was the day of “I don’t want to do it, but I have to.” As I pulled up to A Stitch in Time, I thought about what Louise had said. She was right. No. More. Cops. Mitch was trouble. He was another in a long line of stupidly hot cops who were going to either break my heart or destroy every bit of self-confidence I owned . . . and I needed my confidence. I had to deal with the vicious sisters.
I laid my head on the steering wheel and blew out a frustrated breath. Suck it up, baby. Grandma had left me a beautiful building with three thriving businesses inside. The responsibility was overwhelming, but clearly Grandma thought I could do it . . . and I could. I would deal with Mrs. C and Edith. I would make sure the icky accountants and the wonderful Steves were happy renting from me. My God, I didn’t have any real problems. I had a great life, great friends, a business that made a difference . . . and shitty taste in men. That, too, I could change—and I would. I pasted a smile on my face, got out of my car, and was greeted with hysterical squawking. Crapitty-crapcrap . . .
“Thank the gay Lord above,” Short Fat Steve yelled, running out of the salon and straight at me. “It’s just awful,” he shrieked. “My Steve is going to get his pepper spray and blind them. If he does that, he’ll go to jail and we’re going