Georgia on Her Mind(25)

By four-thirty when Lucy rings my doorbell, I’ve put the pool gear away, eaten a light lunch and paid a few bills.

She falls against the door, laughing. “Oh, Macy, I don’t want to say I told you so!”

“Then don’t.”

“I told you so!” She just couldn’t leave well enough alone. “You’re brighter than Rudolph’s nose.” She makes no effort to contain her merriment, which only irritates me more.

“I’ll have you know, I’m in pain.” I ease down to the couch, wincing.

“I’ll bet. What happened?” She kicks off her sneakers and goes to the kitchen. I hear the fridge door open and close.

“I fell asleep.”

“Classic move.”

“But I did accomplish something today.”

“Besides that brilliant sunburn?” She collapses on the couch next to me sipping bottled water.

“I made a couple of lists.”

“What kind of lists? The list?”

“One list for my dream job. And yes, the list.” I wriggle my eyebrows at her.

She made her list years ago, but I refused. How unromantic is it to look for a man the way one shops for groceries? But today somehow it seemed like a fun idea.

“Well, I’m impressed. Let me see it.” She holds out her hand.

“Forget it. It’s between me and God.”

“What? You’ve seen my list!”

“Whose fault is that?”

She looks shocked. “I’m your best friend.”

I offer to show her my job list, which she reviews begrudgingly. She’s sure I can find a better boss, but doubts I have the guts to do it.

“Why not?” I demand.

We banter back and forth until Lucy happens to notice the time. “Macy, it’s five-thirty.”

“Rats.” Now I’m scrambling to get ready. Fortunately my hair is thick and straight, so it’s easy to style.

I lose the robe to the bedroom floor and stand in front of the closet. Lucy is calling out the time from the living room, where she’s flipping through TV channels. “Five forty-five.”

I skim through my wardrobe. Ah-ha, just as I suspected. “I have nothing to wear,” I yell out my bedroom door and down the stairs.

“Are you insane?” Lucy yells back. “Your closet is so stuffed you can’t push the clothes aside to see what they look like.”

“I’m telling you, I have nothing.”

She stomps up the steps to help me, laughing again when she walks into the room. “I can’t help it.” She motions to my face. “It’s so red.”

Since I’m so burned, we decide I should dress warm to combat frigid restaurant temperatures.

“Here, try this.” Lucy jerks a white top out of the closet, one with three-quarter-inch sleeves and a scoop neck.

“I forgot I had that.” I slip it on and decide it looks fabulous against my red skin.

“And this.”

Lucy tosses me a soft purple sweater, and a pair of jeans with the tags still on them.

Last but not least, she pulls out my pair of vintage red Mary Janes.

“Ooh, I love those shoes.” I slip gingerly into the jeans and I try to button them. Hmm, a little snug. I suck in my breath and try again.

“Didn’t you try them on?” Lucy asks, hands on her hips, head tilted in disbelief.

“Well, I was in a hurry. Normally this size fits me fine.”

“Oh, they must be sizing down these days.” She’s so sarcastic.

“I’m sure of it.” I squat and walk duck-style around the room. The material rubs against my burned legs.

“Or maybe all those large fries have come home to roost on your backside.”

I duck-walk from the bed to the bathroom hoping to relax the gripping threads. But when I stand, a tiny roll of flab pooches over the waistband.

Lucy gives it a pinch. “No way. You can’t go out in those. They are too tight.”

I unbutton with a loud exhale. “They were killing my legs, anyway.” The jeans slide to the floor.

“Wear this skirt.” Lucy hands me a cotton flared skirt with a purple pattern that matches the sweater. “And these mules.”

The skirt does not irritate my sunburn and is the perfect look for a spring date. Now I feel pretty and skinny.

“Hurry with your makeup. I’ll go downstairs and wait for Austin.”

I smack Luce’s cheek with a kiss. “Thank you.”

Austin rings the bell at 6:02. Lucy hides in the kitchen while I open the door and invite him in. He declines, saying he’d rather get going.

“Fine.” I peek at Lucy as I grab my bag. She gives me the he’s-gorgeous expression and I’m off on a date with Austin Ramirez.





Chapter Twelve




The date starts slowly and awkwardly, but that’s to be expected. He opens the car door for me, bumping my shin with the door’s edge. The metal end scrapes across my sunburn and I breathe through my teeth, wincing. “Ow.”

Austin apologizes. Of course he didn’t mean it.

On the way to dinner, he compliments me without even glancing my way. “You look nice. I love your cologne. What is it?” He sniffs.