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What’s more, in bed I can cook. Let’s get married.’”
Candy snorted and kept walking. “Oh, that’s subtle.”
“That’s how I got Ron. All the other women after him dressed like bimbos and acted as if all they brought to the table was sex and permission for him to spend millions on them. On our first date, I brought to the table a bag of sugar-oatmeal cookies I baked. He never saw what hit him.”
“True
enough.”
Abigail had grown up in West Allis, one of five boister-ous siblings in a house without enough love or money, and had decided the latter was more important, therefore she got herself engaged to the first gazillionaire she could find. He ducked out—the infamous Valentine’s Day non-wedding—
but she married the next one, Ron Glucklich. They lived in a mansion overlooking Lake Michigan with a three-car garage the size of Candy’s house. Until the start of her pregnancy four months earlier, Abigail was always rushing off to this or that country, resort, beach, et al, and was hardly ever around long enough for her house to feel like home, at least as Candy saw it. Now that Abigail had finally stopped throwing up, she and Ron would be off again soon, to Jamaica. Candy wouldn’t want her life for anything.
Okay, maybe for a month. Or two. Abigail didn’t have to dress up and pretend to be Sexy Glamour Girl, she lived it.
“Where are you?”
“On my way to meet Ralph.” She stopped outside the restaurant entrance. “I’m here, in fact. He’s probably thinking by now that I’m not going to show.”
“My, my, you are certainly rolling in men.” Abigail sounded wistful. “Those were the days.”
“Like you’d trade what you have now?” She snorted.
Though there were times Candy suspected Abigail missed having the kind of love Candy had found with Chuck, she and Ron got along well and were both thrilled about the coming baby. “I’ll let you know how it goes. What are you doing tonight?”
“Ron’s traveling. I’m going to hang out, watch TV and try not to eat Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. Those miniature ones are so cute you think they don’t count, then you reach the end of the bag and realize that’s a whole day’s allotment of calories and none of them were good for the little one.” She let out a groan of exasperation that couldn’t hide her joy. “This baby-making is a major responsibility.”
“Worth it, though?”
“Oh, yeah.” She sighed blissfully. “The little nugget has me already. I’m a goner.”
“I knew that about you.” Candy grinned over a twinge of envy. Abigail was finally looking out for someone other than herself. That was worth grinning over. The envy…well, Candy had thought that by now she and Chuck would be married and starting a family, too.
“So go. Have fun. I’ll fret about calories and you have wild sex.”
“We’ll
see.”
“Oh, and I was serious about baking Neighbor Guy cookies, Candy. Make those chocolate chunk ones I nearly gained forty pounds on once I stopped wanting to throw up every hour. He’ll fall like bricks.”
“Will
do.”
“And call me the second you’re done with the Ralph-date.
If he doesn’t get a stiffy at the sight of you, he’s gay.”
Candy giggled. “Thanks, Abby. I promise I’ll call right away.”
She clicked off the phone, tucked it in her bag, and felt suddenly faint with nerves. She’d have to walk into a bar full of people who would take one look and make all kinds of assumptions about her character. Same for the other dates, yes, but this character seemed so false…
She squared her shoulders and strode into the bar, trying to act as confident and sexual as she knew she looked. No backing out now.
Inside, she gritted her teeth against the rush of warmth and noise, and made herself look around. Ralph was pretty hot in his picture, though Marie said he’d put on a few pounds.
A huge man lumbered toward her. Much taller than she expected. A regular elephant bull. He’d put on, yes, a few pounds. No, several pounds. And shaved his head. And added an earring. And grown one of those soul patches which made Candy itch for a razor. He looked like David Draiman, the lead singer of the band Disturbed, minus the giant, scary lip ring. “Candy?”
