pages. Oz, jaws full of his favorite stuffed green duck, circled and then laid down on the floor at their feet with a heavy grunt. Andie, eyes closed, let her thoughts fade away as she drank her sweet tea. It was a comfortable silence, and a perfect way to begin the morning.
Andie had almost slipped into a chai coma by the time Scott spoke again. “So, how’s the gala planning coming? You pick a color scheme yet?” He gave her a sly smirk. “I bet Tandy voted pink. At least two different shades of pink, actually.”
It was hard to sip hot tea daintily when one was laughing, but Andie did her best. Scott and Tandy had a friendly albeit fierce ongoing rivalry. On the one hand, Tandy maintained that no grown man should wear so many accessories, and on the other, Scott insisted that Tandy leaked glitter wherever she went like some kind of faux-Disney princess. It was the kind of teasing boys and girls did to each other in the fourth grade when they were trying to hide their crushes. It was nauseatingly cute.
“Worse. In the words of Sally Fields, the whole thing is ‘pink and pink.’” She waved off Scott’s puzzled look. Movie references were no fun when you had to explain them. Suddenly, Andie remembered that she had something much more important to ask him. Tandy had given her executive orders to find a photographer for the event, and she’d not so subtly inquired as to Scott’s availability. “Hey, by the way, are you free that night? We need a photographer”—she batted her eyelashes imploringly—“you, preferably.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Fox…” Scott shut the magazine and nervously pulled at the hand towel still hanging over his shoulder. He flapped it against his denim-clad knee, the look on his face alternating between shy and nervous. Large crowds were not Scott’s cup of tea. The noise and shuffle of that many bodies in a confined space still caused him a fair amount of anxiety. “How many people did you say again?”
Andie tucked a honey-blonde strand behind her ear and gave Scott her most reassuring smile. “Three hundred,” she said the number slowly, doing the math in her head, “plus a dozen or so caterers, and a few other vendors. If you’re not up to it, I totally understand.” She set her mug on the side table and leaned forward, took Scott’s nervous hand in both of hers. She wouldn’t push it if he wasn't ready to face such a large event just yet, and she didn’t want to make him feel obligated in any way. But she also wanted to give him the opportunity to reach out and take, if he was up to trying. Friends don’t let friends wallow, right?
“There’s totally no pressure, Scott. If you’re not up to it, that’s absolutely fine. If, however”—she gave his hand, which was trembling just a tiny bit, a small squeeze—“you are , then I will be right there. I’ll stay right by your side, and you will rock photographing a charity gala like one has never been rocked before.”
“Seriously, won’t you be too busy wandering around and being the host?”
“Pinky promise. Plus, you’ll be devastating in a bright pink tie. Tandy will love it.”
Scott’s grin sped from sheepish to rogue in a split second. Andie had said the magic words. An eye for flair, he was a sucker for bold fashion statements. The last time they’d gone shopping together, he’d bought a pair of bright green skinny jeans from Express and hadn’t stopped wearing them until they had—mercifully—started to wear holes too big to be patched. If anyone could rock bright green denim it was Scott, but still no one should be allowed to rock them for two months straight. Even if the idea of sporting a bright pink accessory didn’t win him over, that bit about Tandy would. Of course, Scott would never admit it.
“Okay, lady, you talked me into it. But I—”
He was interrupted by the dinging of the bell as someone walked in the other side of the café. “I’m in,” he finished conspiratorially.
Andie had almost slipped into a chai coma by the time Scott spoke again. “So, how’s the gala planning coming? You pick a color scheme yet?” He gave her a sly smirk. “I bet Tandy voted pink. At least two different shades of pink, actually.”
It was hard to sip hot tea daintily when one was laughing, but Andie did her best. Scott and Tandy had a friendly albeit fierce ongoing rivalry. On the one hand, Tandy maintained that no grown man should wear so many accessories, and on the other, Scott insisted that Tandy leaked glitter wherever she went like some kind of faux-Disney princess. It was the kind of teasing boys and girls did to each other in the fourth grade when they were trying to hide their crushes. It was nauseatingly cute.
“Worse. In the words of Sally Fields, the whole thing is ‘pink and pink.’” She waved off Scott’s puzzled look. Movie references were no fun when you had to explain them. Suddenly, Andie remembered that she had something much more important to ask him. Tandy had given her executive orders to find a photographer for the event, and she’d not so subtly inquired as to Scott’s availability. “Hey, by the way, are you free that night? We need a photographer”—she batted her eyelashes imploringly—“you, preferably.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Fox…” Scott shut the magazine and nervously pulled at the hand towel still hanging over his shoulder. He flapped it against his denim-clad knee, the look on his face alternating between shy and nervous. Large crowds were not Scott’s cup of tea. The noise and shuffle of that many bodies in a confined space still caused him a fair amount of anxiety. “How many people did you say again?”
Andie tucked a honey-blonde strand behind her ear and gave Scott her most reassuring smile. “Three hundred,” she said the number slowly, doing the math in her head, “plus a dozen or so caterers, and a few other vendors. If you’re not up to it, I totally understand.” She set her mug on the side table and leaned forward, took Scott’s nervous hand in both of hers. She wouldn’t push it if he wasn't ready to face such a large event just yet, and she didn’t want to make him feel obligated in any way. But she also wanted to give him the opportunity to reach out and take, if he was up to trying. Friends don’t let friends wallow, right?
“There’s totally no pressure, Scott. If you’re not up to it, that’s absolutely fine. If, however”—she gave his hand, which was trembling just a tiny bit, a small squeeze—“you are , then I will be right there. I’ll stay right by your side, and you will rock photographing a charity gala like one has never been rocked before.”
“Seriously, won’t you be too busy wandering around and being the host?”
“Pinky promise. Plus, you’ll be devastating in a bright pink tie. Tandy will love it.”
Scott’s grin sped from sheepish to rogue in a split second. Andie had said the magic words. An eye for flair, he was a sucker for bold fashion statements. The last time they’d gone shopping together, he’d bought a pair of bright green skinny jeans from Express and hadn’t stopped wearing them until they had—mercifully—started to wear holes too big to be patched. If anyone could rock bright green denim it was Scott, but still no one should be allowed to rock them for two months straight. Even if the idea of sporting a bright pink accessory didn’t win him over, that bit about Tandy would. Of course, Scott would never admit it.
“Okay, lady, you talked me into it. But I—”
He was interrupted by the dinging of the bell as someone walked in the other side of the café. “I’m in,” he finished conspiratorially.
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