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I groan. She’s savage with her burns.
Gage: Well played, Grams. But I will get you next time.
Grams: Doubtful.
Then I set the phone down, but I linger on Eliza’s parting comment. Have I left a hole in her life by avoiding romance? For ten years, it’s been just Eliza and me. Since she was one and her mom died far too young. And a few times over that decade, I’ve tried again. But I flash back to the last time I was serious with a woman—a little over a year ago—and how that turned out for both my daughter and me.
A dark cloud passes over me briefly. I refuse to think of my ex tonight. I refuse to think of the distant past too.
I also vow to set aside my obsession about the future. I’m going to do something I rarely do. I’ll enjoy tonight for what it is—a moment in time. A brief respite from work and reality.
And that’s all.
5
WALL ART
Elodie
As my black skirt swishes around my thighs, I head to the door, where my gaze strays to an unfortunate basket of custom-made bath bombs in all scents of the chocolate rainbow. Toffee, mint, cinnamon, milk.
My nose curls from the cloying smell of the woo-me gift that Sebastian Roberts at The Chocolate Connoisseur sent me this afternoon before I took Amanda to her friend Ally’s house. Cocoa soap is not the way to my heart or into my business. I run a finger along the crinkly paper inside the basket but look the other way. I’ll deal with them tomorrow.
Cute cropped cardigan and lucky ring on, I head out, leaving the bath bombs behind. I send Amanda a quick text as I go, letting her know my phone is on if she needs anything. She replies that Ally’s mom is making homemade veggie burgers. That must be a relief for her. She stresses hard if she thinks her food choices are inconveniencing anyone.
I walk down the street to meet my friend Juliet. She lives nearby and has a dinner meeting with one of her clients near the spot where Gage is meeting me, so we’re walking together most of the way.
I spot her on the corner, her chestnut hair framing her cheekbones, her fair skin as dewy as always. “Hey you,” I call out.
We hug like it’s been ages, then head toward the Painted Ladies.
“Are you going into tonight’s date armed with your favorite bad sex position to test with him? Because that’d be awesome for me.” Her green eyes glint with podcast possibility. “You could come on Heartbreakers and Matchmakers and report back. We love real-world details.”
I’ve listened to every episode religiously since she joined the podcast, sharing her optimistic perspective on both dating and moving on with her more pragmatic co-host, a well-known couples therapist. “While I love your show, I can’t help you out. I don’t plan to have bad sex,” I say with a take that, world lift of my chin.
Her brow knits. “Well, I don’t think anyone plans to have it.”
“True. Let me rephrase then. I’ve learned the best way to avoid it.”
“I’m all ears.”
“If a man isn’t good at kissing, he’s a DNF for me,” I say as the light changes and we cross. “Kisses don’t lie.”
She hums thoughtfully, then says, “You know, I think you’re right. But can you train a man to be a better kisser?”
I shoot her a skeptical look. “I don’t train men to become better in bed. And no woman should either.”
I just wish I felt as certain about other things. Even as Juliet and I catch up on our days, those damn bath bombs nag at me. I’m worried they’ll weigh me down all night. When there’s a pause in the convo, I turn to Juliet and blurt out, “But I still don’t know what to do about The Chocolate Connoisseur offer.”
Juliet gives me a sympathetic smile, then rubs my arm as we stride up the hill. “They didn’t up their counteroffer much, did they?”
A little embarrassed, I shake my head. I hired a business attorney to negotiate, and she’s badass, but Sebastian wouldn’t come up by much. The buyout offer is still lowball. And while I’d retain control of the brand and run the shop on a steady salary, technically he’d own my recipes. My precious IP. “The owner is trying to woo me with gifts instead. Last week he sent gift certificates to a spa. This afternoon, he sent me a basket of chocolate-flavored bath bombs, with a card saying this is what my life could be like if I say yes. More relaxing,” I say, then frown.
“Is that frown because it’s weird that a guy who’s not romancing you sent you bath bombs?”
I jerk my gaze to her. “Yes! I don’t want to take a bath with his bath bombs. But still. I’m torn and I know I should take it seriously.”
“The shop is so successful. Do you have to take it?”
