Waiting On You (Blue Heron #3)(8)

“No! It’s a multi-look sweater,” Paulie said, clutching it closed. “I have six of them.”

“So you said.”

Paulie’s face was bright red, so Colleen reached across Connor to grab a folder and began fanning her, smiling encouragingly. “That’s fine. The sweater can stay. It’s...it’s an interesting piece.” Confidence, she well knew, was the key to true beauty.

“You can wear it seventeen different ways,” Paulie said. “Like this, my favorite, just sort of flowing—” And it did flow, almost all the way to the floor, since Paulie was about five-one. “And then you can take the ends and wrap it around your neck—”

“Why would you do that?” Colleen said. “To hang yourself?”

“And then you can make it even into a dress, see, like this. Or a scarf. Even a skirt.”

“‘It’s a sock, it’s a sheet, it’s a bicycle seat,’” Connor said in a singsong voice. “Remember that, Coll? The Lorax? What was that thing they made from the Truffula trees?”

“A Thneed,” Colleen said. “Here. Let me drape it...um...great. There!” Okay, it was a weird sweater, but if Paulie thought she looked good in it....

“It hides a lot of flaws,” Paulie said.

“You don’t have flaws. You’re very strong and healthy-looking.”

“I heard you can bench-press two twenty-five,” Connor said, earning a kick from Colleen.

“True,” Paulie said proudly.

“And that’s great,” Colleen said. “But tonight, let’s focus on femininity. No, don’t panic. We’re just planting the seeds, that’s all. Just planting seeds.”

“Or Thneeds,” Connor said.

“Shut it, Connor. Why are you still here, anyway? Go cook something.”

He obeyed (finally).

“No need to be nervous, Paulie,” she said more gently. “You’ve known Bryce for aeons—”

“Tell me about it,” she muttered, her face going blotchy.

“—and he already likes you.”

“He likes everyone.”

True. Bryce didn’t have a mean bone in his body. Or an ugly bone, either. Which was why women launched themselves at him like hypersonic missiles.

“Now tonight,” Colleen said, “you just want to get his attention, okay? As a woman, not as his buddy. Don’t talk about sports, don’t mention how much you can bench-press. Just say something like, ‘Oh, hey, Bryce! You look really handsome tonight.’”

From Paulie came the sounds of a dry heave.

“Now, now,” Colleen said. “It’s gonna be fine. Bryce is handsome. We all know that. So you just remind him that you’re here and female and fabulous. I want you to just brush against his arm, like this, just a little swoop of the breast, okay? A breast-swoop.” She demonstrated, pressing the girls lightly against Paulie’s shoulder.

“You smell great,” Paulie said.

“That would be a perfect thing to tell him.”

“No, I meant you. You smell really nice.”

Colleen paused. “Thanks. Now take a deep breath.” She looked down at Paulie’s kind, flushed face. “This is just the shark-bump test. Just to bring you onto his radar.”

“Got it. Shark. Radar.” She was hyperventilating.

“Breathe in for four, hold for four, exhale for four, that’s a girl. I know Bryce’s usual type, and guess what? They’re not right for him, are they, or else he’d be married right now. Just imagine that he’s been waiting for you all his life.”

“No need to sell it that hard, Coll.”

“It’s called confidence.” She squeezed Paulie’s hard shoulders. “I’ll be right behind the bar.”

“What if I screw up? What if he laughs at me? What if I puke and—”

“Calm down. Remember, you’re smart, you’re an executive at a successful company, you have what, an MBA? Everyone likes you, Paulie. Bryce just needs a little...strategy, and he’ll see you for the amazing person you are. And if you really love him, he’s worth the effort, right?”

“Yeah. He is.” Paulie stood up a little straighter.

“So let’s go. I hate to be cliché, but I want you drinking a martini or a mojito. No more Genesee.”

“Feminine, fabulous, martini, mojito.”

“Perfect. And next time, wear a girly color. Not gray.”

“It’s fog.”

“It’s gray, Paulie. You came to me, remember? I’m the expert. So no Thneed next time.”

Paulie cracked her neck. “What if—just putting this out there—what if I panic?”

“Um...I’ll give you a sign.”

“Really? That would be so great, Colleen!”

“I’ll do this. See?” She tossed her hair back in the time-honored fertility gesture women used to get men to notice how shiny they were. “Hair flip equals abort, abort. You pretend your phone is ringing and you just step away. Okay?”

“Roger that.”

Colleen took the shorter woman by the shoulders. “You’re special, and he’d be lucky to have you.”