Georgia on Her Mind(27)

At the Sun Shoppe Café, I order a large latte and sit outside. It’s a chilly but enchanting night, despite my bomb of a date. I pull my sweater close and sip the hot latte.

The moon is bright and beautiful and all the stars are plugged in and twinkling. All around me the old downtown shops are illuminated with strings of tiny white lights.

Sigh. A night made for lovers and here I sit, kissing a coffee cup.

In the chronicle of bad dates, tonight has to rank among the worst. An inductee into the Hall of Fame of Worst Dates Ever. And it happened to me, Macy Moore. I decide to dial up the sisters.

First Lucy. “I’m at the Sun Shoppe.”

“How’s it going?”

“Not.”

“What?”

“Austin went home to his mommy.”

“No-o-o.” She almost hyperventilates begging for details.

“Meet me down here. I’ll give you every last juicy tidbit.”

She hesitates. “I’m sorta in the middle of something.”

“The middle of what?” Is it me or has she been acting strange lately?

“I’ll tell you later.”

“Don’t use my line on me. What are you in the middle of?”

“I guess I could come down there if you really need me.”

“Your enthusiasm overwhelms me.”

“Macy, I—”

“Never mind. Do whatever it is you’re doing. I’ll catch a cab home.”

“A cab. No, I’ll come get you.”

“Lucy, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? Call if you need me.”

I just did. Look where it got me. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

I tap my phone against my palm, deciding what to do next. I dial Adriane. “Darling, I’m up to my eyeballs in edits. They are due next week and my heroine took a wrong turn in the jungle on page 102.”

“Well, then, better rescue her.”

“How’d the date go?” she asks, hurried.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“Yes, lunch after church. Pray I wake up in time for services.”

I grin. “Will do.”

She hangs up without a goodbye. Next I call Tamara, to find she’s at work.

“On a Saturday night?” I make a face.

“IT upgraded the computers and I want to make sure everything is working before Monday morning. We’re near the quarter’s end.”

Well, aren’t we a pitiful lot. Two of the SSS are working, one is recovering from a bad date and the other…who knows—up to something dubious.

“Macy? Hello.”

I look around. Oh crud, it’s handsome Dan emerging from the shadows with Perfect Woman. Another sophisticated-looking couple follows them.

“Hi, Dan.” I stand to shake his hand.

“You remember Delia.” He motions to Perfect Woman.

“Certainly.” I give a little half wave and a nod. “Nice to see you.”

She smiles. “And you.” I squint at her in the glow of the Sun Shoppe’s lights. Nope, still no visible imperfections.

Dan introduces the other couple. “This is my boss, Quentin Harper, and his wife, Kelly.”

“Boss? You’re a partner now, Dan,” Quentin Harper corrects in a deep voice, stepping toward me with a meticulous smile, hand extended.

To me, Dan explains, “I made partner at the firm this week.”

“Congratulations.”

Perfect Woman links her arm with his and purrs. “We had a lovely dinner at that new little French restaurant.”

“Wonderful,” I say. I didn’t even know there was a new French restaurant.

“So,” Dan says, eyeing me. “What brings you to downtown Melbourne on a Saturday night?”

I fiddle with my latte cup. No use lying. “A date. He felt ill and went home.”

Dan looks startled. “Went home?”

I nod and sit down before I fall down. Why does honesty have to be so embarrassing?

“Do you need a ride home?” Perfect Woman asks.

“Oh, no, no. I can call a cab.” A cab? Why didn’t I say friend? A friend. I can call a friend. Cab sounds so lonely and desperate.

“Nonsense. We’re on our way home now. Ride with us,” Dan insists.

I wave them off as if sitting downtown, alone, is actually fun for me. “No, I’m fine. Thank you.”

“We insist,” Perfect Woman says.

Refusing now would just look stupid. “Okay, thank you.”

The Harpers go their way while I follow Dan and Perf—I mean Delia to Dan’s white Mercedes.

I didn’t think this night could get any worse. I’m grateful for the ride home, but did it have to be with Mr. Success and Miss Perfect?

Dan takes the scenic route to the Gables, driving along the river. Moonbeams sparkle like diamonds on the water. He and Delia talk quietly for a few minutes, so I make myself at home in the backseat, nestled against the cool posh leather, and think thoughts to God. I decide not to fret anymore about my crash-and-burn date.

By the time we drive home, my disappointment over Austin Ramirez has gone the way of moondust.





Chapter Thirteen