“No. I can get my own woman.”
“Over and over again,” she teased. “The problem just might be the volume.”
“Not everything should be in moderation.” He picked up the steaks and started for the back door. “You’re really not going to tell your mom you’re engaged?”
“Not for now.”
He chuckled. “Good luck with that. You’ve never kept a secret from her before.”
He was right about that, she thought glumly. But this time she was motivated. She loved her mom, she really did. But a double wedding? No. Not happening. Which meant keeping her delicious secret to herself. At least for now.
Victoria stared at her computer screen in front of her, doing her best to keep her mind open and not focus on the individual words. Often her Morning Pages made no sense—but that was the point. The technique from Julia Cameron’sThe Artist’s Waywas to free her mind and let her creativity flow through her, onto the screen. It wasn’t about having something to show for her time, it was about staying true to the process.
Technically she was supposed to be writing them by hand, but she didn’t have the patience for that. Every time she’d tried, she’d ended up doodling butterflies or scribblingWhy does my mother have to be so annoying?over and over again. Giving up the mind-hand connection meant her free writing went more smoothly, and she figured that was a good compromise.
The timer on her phone dinged, freeing her from the exercise.She scanned what she’d completed, saw it was complete crap and deleted every word. She’d just opened her screenplay document when her phone issued another notification.
The text was direct.Want to do something?
Ethan, the guy asking the question, wasn’t inviting her to lunch or even on a date. He was, instead, suggesting sex. An hour or two together with no expectations beyond orgasms for all. She’d hooked up with him in the past and had always enjoyed herself. Under other circumstances, even at—she glanced at her phone to confirm the time—eight forty-five in the morning, she would be tempted. But even the thought of someone trying to touch her, let alone getting on top of her and moving made her wince.
She quickly typedI’m recovering from being thrown out of the back of a truck so I’m out of commission for a couple of weeks.
Three dots appeared instantly, followed byNo problem. Feel better soon.
And then he was gone. Victoria dropped the phone on the bed, telling herself that she preferred her relationships to happen from a distance. She didn’t need or want any kind of emotional connection. Guys could get clingy, and who wanted that? She hardly needed Ethan to offer to check on her or maybe bring soup or something. She was independent. Totally fine and not in the least bit... lonely.
She glanced around her childhood bedroom with its tasteful wallpaper and extra cushy carpeting, thinking that living with her parents, however temporarily, kind of belied the wholeindependentthing. But in a matter of another week or so she would be back to her I-don’t-need-anyone self.
She looked up as her mother knocked on her half-open door. Ava walked in, dressed for the office in one of her expensive power suits. She had the body to carry it off, for sure. Her mother was tall, with long legs and a naturally lean build. Victoria, on the other hand, was short and strong, with curves that leaned towardchubby if she wasn’t careful. She could still do a quick tumbling routine without missing a beat, but a tailored suit like the one her mom was wearing made her look dumpy.
Not that there was a lot of call for suit-wearing in her business, thank goodness. And given her incomplete fracture of the fibula, a tumbling routine was really nothing more than wishful thinking on her part.
“Hey, Mom,” she said. “You heading out?”
“I am. You and I had talked about going to look at the venue on Thursday for your father’s sixtieth birthday party. How did you want to handle the appointment? I could take several videos to show you, or I could postpone for another week or so. I’ve already given them a deposit, so they’re holding the date we talked about.”
She and her mom might not agree about much, but they both adored Milton and wanted him to have a blowout sixtieth. Ava’s suggested venue—a gorgeous former mansion overlooking the ocean with plenty of outdoor space and the promise of a killer sunset—had looked amazing online and seemed to be just the kind of place Milton would enjoy.
“We go like we planned,” Victoria said.
Her mother frowned. “You’re on crutches. It’s supposed to be on one level, but there are bound to be a few stairs.”
“I’ll be fine. My ribs barely hurt, and I’m getting stronger every day. I’ll go with you so we can get everything finalized. We’ll go Thursday.”
Her mother looked doubtful. “If you’re sure.”
“I am. You’ll see. We’re doing this. Thursday.” She grinned. “I’ll be the one with the black eyes.”
Cindy hovered just outside of Shannon’s office. Shannon waved her in while continuing her phone conversation with the owner of the cleaning service they used.
“I understand the schedule is always changing,” Shannon said, smiling when she saw her mom set down her giant tote bag that contained all things wedding. Obviously Cindy wasn’t here to talk about work.
“But if you’re going to take the job, you have to do all the work,” she continued. “They didn’t wash the floors.”
“It was a mistake,” the woman on the other end of the phone said. “I’ve talked to them. It won’t happen again.” She hesitated. “We can take a hundred dollars off the bill.”
Shannon thought about the two hours she’d had to spend washing the floors herself and knew a hundred dollars wasn’t anywhere near enough. Yet the cleaning company they used was usually reliable and often squeezed in new listings with very little notice.
