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It’s then that I see her staring up at me. She pauses her fumbling with her shoe and sits up straight. “You look really good. That fit is perfect.”
I laugh and shimmy my hips, knowing full well I look deeply uncool doing it. “Lots more room now; it’s not digging into my frank and beans. Thanks!”
Ursula’s face flushes deep red. Her shoulders shake as she covers her mouth. “I’m so happy to hear about your beans,” she says, snorting through her fingers.
I mosey over to where she is and kneel in front of her. I wait for her to regain her composure. “What…what are you doing?”
“Helping Cinderella get ready for the ball.”
I lift her heel up and rest her foot on my thigh, examining the shoe. She’s quiet while I fasten the buckles.
“Thanks,” she breathes. I look up at her and see her staring down at me, her lips parted. “You don’t have to…”
“I got it.” Is this just an excuse to touch her soft skin and caress her smooth, shapely calves while I wrap the springy, sparkly, wiry thing around her leg? Sure is.
She fills the silence with “I’m waiting for you to say something like, ‘I don’t know how you women can walk in these things.’ Or ‘I don’t know why women spend so much on shoes that don’t cover their feet.’” Both of us are deeply aware that I’m still touching her leg. My thumb slowly grazes over the inside of her ankle.
I suspect that’s something that what’s-his-name would say. But I’m with Ursula now, and I’m on her side. I lazily continue to drag my thumb over her ankle and the inside of her lower calf. Ursula points her toes, flexing her strong leg muscles. Damn, she feels like heaven.
“I figure if someone decides they can’t walk in ’em, they’ll change their shoes soon enough. None of my concern.”
“Oh, you’re right about that,” she says.
“And as far as the price, that’s none of my business either. You’re on your feet all day in very practical shoes. I suppose one has to pay a price for one’s feet to look this…”
“This what?”
“Delicious.”
I could be mistaken, but I think I felt a shiver. Don’t know if that was from me or from her.
I didn’t mean to say that out loud, least of all grit it out through my teeth. But shit happens. I’m wound up tighter than a drum. That dress, her hair. She’s gorgeous already, but tonight she looks like a movie star, and way out of my league. To top it off, she smells like a warm dessert. And I want all of it.
After a long moment of fondling her leg way past the point of politeness, she rasps, “It’s 6:30. If we’re still going, I’d better grab my clutch.”
If we’re still going. Ursula is throwing me a bone, and I better catch it. She’s saying we could skip the whole thing and see where this goes.
Mooney will have my hide, though.
And she said it herself: She doesn’t want to get into anything serious. My heart aches.
I nod and carefully lower her foot to the floor, then offer my hand to help her get to her feet. “Time to go.”
ChapterEight
Ursula
It takes several minutes for people to recognize me when we walk into the Paget Mansion.
That’s fine by me, because I’m having a fantastic time chatting and joking with Noah. I don’t know what I was nervous about; being with him feels like a warm blanket. Safe, covered.
Paper lamps light the path from the street to the entrance of the mansion, where ushers are waiting to direct us up the grand staircase to the third floor.
“I’ve never been inside before. It’s amazing,” I say to Noah, who keeps one hand on the small of my back as we make our ascent. Vintage Tiffany chandeliers glitter above us and bathe the wood staircase in a soft glow. On the landing, we’re invited to pause for a portrait. The town has really gone above and beyond for this shindig.
At the top of the stairs, Juniper takes our tickets and provides us with drink vouchers and swanky bags full of goodies from businesses that have sponsored the event.
“Everything looks wonderful, Juniper. Thank you for organizing this,” I say.
