“I know.” I sip my beer. “Oh, and another thing….” I take a long drink just to make her a little crazy with anticipation. “I know his name.”
“Holy shit. What is it? You should have opened with that.”
“Sam Stone. He works for a security company. SPD Security or something like that.”
“You mean APS Security?”
“Maybe. You know it?”
“My dad has used them for clients before. They’re big-time. Super expensive.”
I’m not sure what that means, but I’ll just go with it. “Yeah, well, he works there.” What else can I say? “Well, there’s more,” I say, sipping my beer. I take a deep breath and start at the beginning. I tell her about him choosing my necklace. I also confess the part about asking him if he wanted to “marry tacos.”
Lauren spits out some of her beer. “You are a class-A dork, Mac.” She can’t seem to stop laughing.
“Shh, it’s not that funny. I wassoembarrassed.”
“Well, he laughed, didn’t he? So, that’s good. But, Mac, did he recognize you?”
“Not right away. It wasn’t until he had to save me from falling on my ass. He had his hands on my waist. When we were inches apart, he said he remembered me.”
“Holy crap, Mac. Did he kiss you?”
“No. But I was so close to lunging for his beautiful mouth. Thank goodness he pulled away when he did, or the comment about marrying tacos would have been nothing compared to the humiliation of forcing myself on him.” I visibly shiver. The thought is too horrific to consider. “He did say that I was the best New Year’s kiss he’d ever had,” I say as my cheeks heat from the memory.
“Well, honey, the most important part of that entire story, besides the fact that he bought your necklace—congrats, by the way—was that he said you were the best kiss he’d ever had.”
“The bestNew Year’s Evekiss. There’s a difference.”
“Semantics. This is great. So, you’ll see him on Friday?”
I nod. I hope so, I really do.
“Well, I’m sleeping over on Thursday night, and I’m going to make sure you look like a million bucks. He’s not going to know what hit him.”
“Lauren,” I whine. I hate makeovers. “Nooooo.”
Lauren snickers as she drinks the last of her beer. “Gotta go, babe. Blake will starve to death if I don’t get home.”
We hug and part ways at the door. “See you.”
“Toodles, Mac.”
CHAPTER TEN
MOTHER KNOWS BEST
After leavingMacKenzie at the jewelry store, I walk to the nearby parking ramp where I’ve parked my car. I slide into the driver seat as I slip off my hoodie, grab the navy cashmere sweater on the seat, and slide it over my head. Next I grab the black leather bomber jacket and pull it on. The jacket used to belong to my dad, and the leather is perfectly worn and soft. It’s challenging to change in the front seat while trying to maneuver my big body, but I get it done. I kick off my old Converse athletic shoes and slip on the Ferragamo loafers Mom bought me for Christmas last month.
Once I’ve changed, I head to the restaurant to meet my mom and my baby sister, Perri, for Mom’s birthday dinner. I could have probably gotten away with wearing the hoodie and my athletic shoes, but I’d rather not see that look on Mom’s face. She turns sixty today, and she’s not going to be happy about it, so I’ll just play along and dress the part.
I pull up to Bavette’s Bar & Boeuf on West Kinzie, grab Mom’s gift, and toss my keys to the valet. This is Mom’s favorite restaurant. It’s upscale without being too pretentious. I enter, and the scent of charbroiled meat hits me. This place has fantastic food.
I wave to Kelly, the hostess, who points me to the back of the restaurant. I see Mom and Perri right away and smile. Mom looks beautiful, as usual. Her hair used to be strawberry blond, but silver has found its way into the mix. She’s got it cut to her chin in a sleek style. She’s wearing a dark suit with a conservative top underneath. She doesn’t need to be flashy, because her grace and style always dominate her look.
As for Perri? She’s the mirror image of my mom except she wears her hair long and straight. Her job at the lab requires her to have her hair up and out of the way, so she finds that the easiest cut. She doesn’t dress anything like Mom, though. If she could, she’d be wearing an old tee and some pajama pants to this dinner, but we both know that Mom would have a fit.
“Hello, beautiful ladies, and happy birthday, Mom,” I say, leaning down to give first Mom a kiss on the cheek, and then my sister. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
