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I look around at what remains of our fancy Christmas lunch, spread out before us on the magazine-worthy stylish table setting, rubbing my tummy contentedly. The glazed baked ham we cooked on the barbecue was mouth-watering, accompanied by an assortment of fancy hot and cold salads for our Christmas lunch, some picked from my thriving garden. The previous tenants had cultivated a well-planned garden area I have kept up, adding a few extra vegetables of my liking to the mix.
We weren’t in a hurry to get up this morning, treating ourselves to a lazy sleep-in before we devoured a BLV: bacon, lettuce, and Vegemite, croissants for breakfast with freshly squeezed orange juice.Hey! I see you screwing your face up. Pop those ingredients onto your grocery list.They can also get put into a bagel or sandwich or between toasted slices of different bread. It’s a favorite of ours, which started as a dare many Christmases ago in my family, and I shared it with Gwen and her dads.
I’m surprised word hasn’t spread of my family’s culinary delight. Today seemed appropriate to pay homage to my family’s love of the BLV.
The key to eating Vegemite. Less is more. You don’t go sticking a spoon in the jar and expect to enjoy a mouthful of the stuff.
That ain’t gonna happen, people.
Even I will screw my face up attemptingthat!
Less is more spread thinly is the golden rule and then work from there until you find the level of Vegemite you enjoy. Or not. It isn’t everyone’s cup of tea.
Since Tucker left, Gwen and I have stayed super busy with marketing, merchandise, and final touches to the tiny houses and the general property. Some things still need Jensen’s attention, but I am just extra; they can wait a little longer. Thanks to Gwen’s ideas and feedback, I couldn’t be any more organized to open the doors to our first guests tomorrow when my new adventure starts and today is about feeling relaxed and rested and not wondering what Tucker and his family are doing.
The man constantly slips into my thoughts during the day and don’t get me started on the nights, waking up all hot and bothered from the steamy dreams.
I constantly fight the urge to stare at the images Alice sent to my phone of us all after brunch in Redondo Beach when she took candid photos of Tucker and me when we weren’t posing and how we were looking at each other.
Gwen and I had this ongoing banter for a few days after she caught the both of us coming out of my office, looking disheveled after saying “catch-you-later.” My friend’s been not subtly prodding to get information out of me. It was like waving flesh in front of a piranha and not letting it devour the morsel.
I’ve stayed tight-lipped because anything can happen between now and when Tucker and his family come home. I don’t want to jinx any possibility.
Ugh. I give myself a mental shake. Seriously, we’ve not spent enough time together for my heart to be staking its claim—especially not when I have so much more to reveal about myself to Tucker. I want to growl at it to leave me be, and what will be, will be. No pressure.
But a beautiful Alaskan woman could be stalking him right now… Or they could have been intimate… Or she’s coming over for Christmas lunch… Or—
“Do I need to call your therapist?” Gwen nudges my leg, knocking me hard enough to regain my senses.
“What? Why?”
“Because you are back in Tuckerland, making noises and having a conversation in your head with yourself, that sounds like you are going a bit kooky. That’s not normal behavior for my strong, intelligent friend. Where has she slipped off to?”
“I’m perfectly sane.” I scowl at her.
Gwen, of course, laughs.
“The man is into you. He undoubtedly told you he was coming back to see you once his vacation is complete.” She gently nudges me in the side. “Don’t doubt yourself. You’re gorgeous, and you rock. You met the family, and you did filthy things in your office you won’t tell me about but trust me when I say my imagination has gone wild.”
“Ewww… don’t be thinking of me naked, and they weren’t filthy. Maybedirty,” I joke.And orgasmic.
“Tucker is totally into you, and you are into him. It’s a no-brainer from where I am sitting. The men in your past don’t compare to the man Tucker represents. Don’t go fretting over whether there is a future.”
Easier said than done.
“Now I will load a few images from today onto Instagram and make witty comments while you continue to have a conversation with yourself, and once I get done, we are back in girls-only mode. We have dessert and champagne to devour, and we can call that yummy cousin of yours and chat with his family. Deal?” I nod, and she pulls me in for a quick side-hug.
Earlier, we set up my camera on a fancy tripod, and we both took lots of staged and candid images of our lunch, the Mini-Ms, and Pearl, and the two of us enjoying ourselves and sipping wine. The photos look like snippets from a glossy magazine spread.
I am wearing a long-sleeved, deep burgundy, velvet wrap-around top paired with my special purchases: a feminine-to-the-max ivory tulle, layered skirt, and pumps. Gwendoline is vintage fashionable in a short-sleeved Christmas-green frock from the 1950s with a tulle underskirt and a satin sash, accentuating her waistline with a faux fur wrap to keep her warm. Gwen and I went all out dressing our outfits up with full hair and makeup—even fake eyelashes—for our lunch for two, including blinging ourselves up with costume jewelry.
We are portraying a fantasy Christmas because reality is a little hard for me today.
I admit dressing up and being ‘extra’ kept me occupied, and it was plain fun and girly, something I had forgotten to be until Gwen arrived. I’ve been living in work clothes, morning to knock off time.
While we were getting dolled up, Gwen proclaimed: Go hard or go home.
“Make sure you credit the businesses we purchased our clothing, the animal shelter where I got the Mini-Ms, any local food, and the MacDougall Winery,” I remind her. We might accidentally make ourselves into Instagram influencers yet—anything that helps to promote local businesses and the animal shelter I am up for.
