Six feet of curves and tumbled red hair, Julie Bryant struck the opposite end of Lila’s average height, slim build, straight brown hair.
“You brought a tan back from Rome. God, I’d be wearing 500 SPF and still end up going lobster in the Italian sun. You look just great.”
“Who wouldn’t after two weeks in Rome? The pasta alone. I told you I’d get the wine,” Lila added when Julie shoved the bottle into her hand.
“Now we have two. And welcome home.”
“Thanks.” Lila took the flowers.
“Wow, some place. It’s huge, and the view’s a killer. What do these people do?”
“Start with family money.”
“Oh, don’t I wish I had.”
“Let’s detour to the kitchen so I can fix the flowers, then I’ll give you a tour. He works in finance, and I don’t understand any of it. He loves his work and prefers tennis to golf. She does some interior design, and you can see she’s good at it from the way the apartment looks. She’s thinking about going pro, but they’re talking about starting a family, so she’s not sure it’s the right time to start her own business.”
“They’re new clients, right? And they still tell you that kind of personal detail?”
“What can I say? I have a face that says tell me all about it. Say hello to Thomas.”
Julie crouched to greet the cat. “What a handsome face he has.”
“He’s a sweetheart.” Lila’s deep brown eyes went soft as Julie and Thomas made friends. “Pets aren’t always a plus on the jobs, but Thomas is.”
She selected a motorized mouse out of Thomas’s toy basket, enjoyed Julie’s easy laugh as the cat pounced.
“Oh, he’s a killer.” Straightening, Julie leaned back on the stone-gray counter while Lila fussed the lilies into a clear glass vase.
“Rome was fabulous?”
“It really was.”
“And did you find a gorgeous Italian to have mad sex with?”
“Sadly no, but I think the proprietor of the local market fell for me. He was about eighty, give or take. He called me una bella donna and gave me the most beautiful peaches.”
“Not as good as sex, but something. I can’t believe I missed you when you got back.”
“I appreciate the overnight at your place between jobs.”
“Anytime, you know that. I only wish I’d been there.”
“How was the wedding?”
“I definitely need wine before I get started on Cousin Melly’s Hamptons Wedding Week From Hell, and why I’ve officially retired as a bridesmaid.”
“Your texts were fun for me. I especially liked the one . . . ‘Crazy Bride Bitch says rose petals wrong shade of pink. Hysteria ensues. Must destroy CBB for the good of womankind.’”
“It almost came to that. Oh no! Sobs, tremors, despair. ‘The petals are pink-pink! They have to be rose-pink. Julie! Fix it, Julie!’ I came close to fixing her.”
“Did she really have a half-ton truckload of petals?”
“Just about.”
“You should have buried her in them. Bride smothered by rose petals. Everyone would think it was an ironic, if tragic, mishap.”
“If only I’d thought of it. I really missed you. I like it better when you’re working in New York, and I can come see your digs and hang out with you.”