She’d returned to the office on Monday feeling hungover after the weekend with Wes. Friday night, she’d surprised him with the bus, which had been even more exhilarating than she’d expected because, well, kissing…and now the food truck was partly her project, too. Then they’d spent Saturday afternoon together at a coffee shop, plotting and planning how the business could work and make money for the program. Then there’d been more kissing. Not too much since they’d been in public. But enough that the crackle of possibility had sparked between her and Wes at every moment.
That sense of not knowing what was going to happen next, of not knowing how far they were going to take it, of teasing and flirting and feeling each other out was like a jolt of electricity to her system. Even the discussions about the bus and how they should set up the business had gotten her jazzed, the excitement a palpable thing. It was like she’d adjusted the setting on her life and now everything was plugged in and in high-definition color.
But when she’d strolled back into work on Monday with a spring in her step, the grayness of the office—something she’d never really noticed before—had hit her in the face like a cinder-block wall. And not just gray in color but in mood. The same people. The same clicking keyboards. The same burnt coffee smell.
A new stack of cases on her desk about the same old marriage problems.
A list of things her father needed her to do for the campaign.
The whole thing had made her feel deeply tired and…out of place.
Which made no sense since she’d worked there all her adult life and her name was on the goddamned building. If ever there was a place just for her, this was it. But it’d been like pulling on a sweater she’d owned for years and suddenly discovering it was itchy and that the tag irritated her neck.
She’d wanted to call Wes and make lunch plans, anything to remind her that the weekend hadn’t been some weird dream, that there was another part of her life that wasn’t this. But when she’d taken a look at her schedule, her heart had sunk.
Booked solid. Not just through the week but all the way through Sunday. Cases on the weekdays and campaign events on Saturday and Sunday. There was going to be no room for free time. No Wes. No Bitching Brunch with her friends. And no visiting the school this week. No color at all.
She sighed, her eyes gliding over Wes’s words again. At least the bus wasn’t going to get to the school until next week. They had a bunch of paperwork and red tape to go through to make sure everything was done correctly, that safety standards were met, signatures obtained. She could block off time next week to spend on the project. She wouldn’t miss the reveal. She wouldn’t have to break her promise to Wes that she would help. That was something. But this week was a wash, and she hadn’t figured out how to tell Wes that yet.
Hell, she hadn’t even known if Wes wanted to get together this week, but the email alleviated that fear. She put her fingers to her keyboard.
To: ChefG
From: RLindt
Greetings, Mr. Garrett,
I deeply regret to inform you that many people have decided to dissolve their marriages this week, and for some reason, they expect me to assist them with that. I am holding them personally responsible for denying me an opportunity to eat pretentious cheese. I am also blaming them for breaking my favorite fancy ink pen when one spouse decided to use it as a projectile. I’m also sorry to report that this weekend, my father’s campaign has thwarted my attempts to actually have a day off. However, I will be available by phone late at night if you are so inclined as
to speak with me at that time.
Warmest regards,
Lawyer Girl
The response came a few minutes later and put a smile on her face.
To: RLindt
From: ChefG
Dear Ms. Lindt,
Will you be wearing blue lacy panties during these phone calls? That may be a requirement for my participation.
Inappropriately,
Chef Dude
To: ChefG
From: RLindt
Dear Mr. Garrett,
Your request will be taken into consideration. Perhaps it is better to wonder what I’ll be wearing than to actually know. Perhaps it’s lace panties. Perhaps it’s footie pajamas and an ugly robe. Perhaps nothing at all.
I assume a man of your creative nature has an imagination.