were placing individual pots of tulips in the sacks.
“What makes you think so?” Mother said.
“Because Ashley’s in love with Rich’s thighs.”
I loved their reaction, heads popping up simultaneously. I walked past them and turned before entering the dining room. “She loves his”—I let my tongue rest between my teeth and said it slowly—“thighs.”
I could hear Mother and Fleur laughing as I went upstairs. “No offense intended, Rich, but Ashley loves everyone’s thighs,” Mother said.
I was at the top of the stairs when Richard called to me from the hallway. “Hey, Bjorkman!”
I turned and looked down at him. His arms were filled with tulips.
“Yeah, Bradshaw?”
“What I want to know is, what do
you
think of my thighs?”
My face got all hot, but this was no time to get tongue-tied, so I leaned over the banister. “I like your thighs—yes—but I’m especially fond of your
buns
.” I smiled my most expansive smile.
Our eyes locked for the first time.
The Romance Writer’s Phrase Book
would say: His “eyes caught and held” mine. He “captured” my eyes with his. And I thought I “detected laughter in his eyes.”
“Why don’t you go with us?” he asked.
“I’d better do some shopping,” I said. I didn’t want tosee Ashley again today. “Besides, I’m plumb out of lip gloss.”
He laughed. “That is a crisis! See you later.”
“See you.” Our eyes held a few seconds longer.
Maybe we could be friends, I thought. Friendship had a better prospect for longevity than romance, and I wanted Richard Bradshaw for life.
I knocked on Trish’s door, but she didn’t answer, or she was asleep.
I spent the rest of the afternoon shopping for our unexpected Christmas guests. I had sent gifts for Bjorn and Trish weeks ago with Mother’s packages, but I wanted them to have something from me to open under the tree on Christmas morning. Trish was easy. I drove directly to Grand Avenue and bought her a dozen of the crocheted Christmas stars she had admired that morning, and then, remembering how much Bjorn liked the tree lights that looked like real candles, I bought him a couple of strings of those for their own tree—if they could ever decide on what kind they would have. Bjorn’s pigheadedness had annoyed me, but the way Trish had withdrawn for the day irritated me as well. I searched around for Fleur and decided on an angora wool muffler that would look stunning on her. It cost more money than I could really afford, and I charged it on Mother’s Visa, hoping she would forgive me and knowing I would be her slave for weeks to come.
I wandered through the mall for an hour and a half wondering what I could buy Richard but couldn’t come up with the right thing. I wanted to buy him something special, but not too personal, and not so special that hewould know I thought he was special, but special enough that he would be pleased.
Aaugh. The way I was thinking reminded me of Ashley, and that scared me more than anything. So I finally bought him a picture book of the Boundary Waters, where he and Bjorn had gone canoeing every summer. Not too special and not too clunky either.
Revision Notes
Why, I am asking myself, was I friends with Ashley Cooper for all those years? The reader will surely want to know as well. She used me in what seem to me now indefensible ways. In these last two chapters, I have made her selfish, calculating, and just plain hateful. The problem is I have described her accurately. The dialogue, too, is not imagined. It is exactly what she said.
I called to ask Shannon’s advice. (If she didn’t go to Key West every Christmas to visit her grandparents, she could have helped me through this mess last Christmas.) I asked her why she thought I had remained friends with Ashley.
“Easy,” she said. “You’re a caretaker.”
This sounded like a label she’d picked up in a psychology class.
“What do you mean—caretaker?” And was that good or bad? I
“What makes you think so?” Mother said.
“Because Ashley’s in love with Rich’s thighs.”
I loved their reaction, heads popping up simultaneously. I walked past them and turned before entering the dining room. “She loves his”—I let my tongue rest between my teeth and said it slowly—“thighs.”
I could hear Mother and Fleur laughing as I went upstairs. “No offense intended, Rich, but Ashley loves everyone’s thighs,” Mother said.
I was at the top of the stairs when Richard called to me from the hallway. “Hey, Bjorkman!”
I turned and looked down at him. His arms were filled with tulips.
“Yeah, Bradshaw?”
“What I want to know is, what do
you
think of my thighs?”
My face got all hot, but this was no time to get tongue-tied, so I leaned over the banister. “I like your thighs—yes—but I’m especially fond of your
buns
.” I smiled my most expansive smile.
Our eyes locked for the first time.
The Romance Writer’s Phrase Book
would say: His “eyes caught and held” mine. He “captured” my eyes with his. And I thought I “detected laughter in his eyes.”
“Why don’t you go with us?” he asked.
“I’d better do some shopping,” I said. I didn’t want tosee Ashley again today. “Besides, I’m plumb out of lip gloss.”
He laughed. “That is a crisis! See you later.”
“See you.” Our eyes held a few seconds longer.
Maybe we could be friends, I thought. Friendship had a better prospect for longevity than romance, and I wanted Richard Bradshaw for life.
I knocked on Trish’s door, but she didn’t answer, or she was asleep.
I spent the rest of the afternoon shopping for our unexpected Christmas guests. I had sent gifts for Bjorn and Trish weeks ago with Mother’s packages, but I wanted them to have something from me to open under the tree on Christmas morning. Trish was easy. I drove directly to Grand Avenue and bought her a dozen of the crocheted Christmas stars she had admired that morning, and then, remembering how much Bjorn liked the tree lights that looked like real candles, I bought him a couple of strings of those for their own tree—if they could ever decide on what kind they would have. Bjorn’s pigheadedness had annoyed me, but the way Trish had withdrawn for the day irritated me as well. I searched around for Fleur and decided on an angora wool muffler that would look stunning on her. It cost more money than I could really afford, and I charged it on Mother’s Visa, hoping she would forgive me and knowing I would be her slave for weeks to come.
I wandered through the mall for an hour and a half wondering what I could buy Richard but couldn’t come up with the right thing. I wanted to buy him something special, but not too personal, and not so special that hewould know I thought he was special, but special enough that he would be pleased.
Aaugh. The way I was thinking reminded me of Ashley, and that scared me more than anything. So I finally bought him a picture book of the Boundary Waters, where he and Bjorn had gone canoeing every summer. Not too special and not too clunky either.
Revision Notes
Why, I am asking myself, was I friends with Ashley Cooper for all those years? The reader will surely want to know as well. She used me in what seem to me now indefensible ways. In these last two chapters, I have made her selfish, calculating, and just plain hateful. The problem is I have described her accurately. The dialogue, too, is not imagined. It is exactly what she said.
I called to ask Shannon’s advice. (If she didn’t go to Key West every Christmas to visit her grandparents, she could have helped me through this mess last Christmas.) I asked her why she thought I had remained friends with Ashley.
“Easy,” she said. “You’re a caretaker.”
This sounded like a label she’d picked up in a psychology class.
“What do you mean—caretaker?” And was that good or bad? I
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