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Soon, she thought as she walked her bike to its rack and locked it.
A good neighborhood, but she didn’t see the point in tempting anyone.
She unlocked the door, and, since Nina’s not-very-dependable car sat at the curb, called out.
“It’s me, running late.” She crossed the living room and, as always, thought about how much more open it would be when she took out the wall that blocked off the kitchen.
She had the money for that project earmarked, so maybe in the fall. Maybe before Christmas. Maybe.
“I’m not running late,” Nina called back. “And I’ve got a date!”
Nina always had a date. But then again, Morgan thought, she was gorgeous and vivacious and only worked one job.
She paused at the open bedroom door.
Several outfits—obviously rejects—littered the bed while Nina modeled another in front of a full-length mirror. Her raven-black hair spilled down the back of a red dress that hugged every curve on her tiny body. Dark eyes sparkled as they met Morgan’s in the glass.
“What do you think?”
“I often think I hate you. Okay, where are you going and who are you going with?”
“Sam’s taking me to Fresco’s for dinner.”
“Fancy! Yeah, the red’s a killer.”
Which she envied a little. The only genuine disappointment between the housemates came from the fact that with Morgan’s long, coltish frame and Nina’s petite, curvy one, they couldn’t trade clothes.
“Go for it. Isn’t this nearly three solid weeks of dates exclusively with the hunkified Sam?”
“Almost four.” Nina did a twirl. “So…”
“I’ll be very quiet when I get home.”
“I really like him, Morgan.”
“So do I.”
“No, I meanreally.”
“Oh.” Angling her head, Morgan studied her friend. “I already know he’s in serious like and more when it comes to you. It’s all over him. If you’re heading there, I’m giving you the full friend approval.”
After flipping that gorgeous hair, Nina let out one of her dreamy sighs. “Pretty sure I’m already headed there.”
“Full approval. I’ve got to change for work.”
“From work for work. I’ve got to put all this away and clean up this room. I don’t want Sam to think I’m a slob.”
“You’re not a slob.” Chaotic, Morgan thought, but Nina kept her chaos contained to her own space.
Unlike Nina’s cheerful chaos, lavender walls, a vanity top littered with makeup, hair products, and God knew, Morgan’s space was just contained.
She used the third bedroom—closet-size—as an office, so this was sanctuary. Quiet blue walls, some art she’d bought from street artists in Baltimore, the white duvet and pillows, a small but cozy reading chair.
She took off office manager—gray pants, white shirt, navy blue blazer—put on bartender—black pants, black shirt. In the bathroom, she opened the drawer where she kept her makeup organized for easy choices. And changed day to night.
The short, angled cut of her blond hair worked fine for both jobs,but the bartender went for more drama on the eyes, deeper on the lips.
With years of practice, she finished the transition inside twenty minutes.
