Page 58 of The Nanny and the Beefcake
A wave of compassion washed over her, and the only thing she wanted to do was to shield this man from whatever demons put that thought into his head.
“Why do you keep calling me plum?” she asked, shifting gears.
He glanced at the ceiling. “I don’t know. You said I couldn’t call yousugar plum. Maybe I call you plum to piss you off? I am quite good at that,” he added with a stupidly sexy boyish grin. And Buddha, give her strength. That smile, coupled with the man’s Adonis of a body, was almost too hard to resist. “And of course,” he continued, “plums are purple, and I saw the violet and blue around us in the cop car.”
Her heart nearly stopped. “You saw those colors when we were in the police car?”
“Yeah, I did, but it could have been the light from a neon sign or something.”
But it wasn’t. She knew it wasn’t that.
“You’re sure it was both colors?” she pressed, hardly able to believe a man who clucked and paraded around like the King of the Beefcakes could perceive auras.
“Yeah, bluish-violet. But what does that matter?” he asked.
“I noticed it, too. It’s called an aura. It’s curious we both saw it and that our observations are so much alike.” She paused as an idea sparked. “So much alike—like treats like,” she whispered.
He took a step toward her. “Are you okay, plum? Do you see colors again, or fairies, or whatever yoga people see?”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t see any fairies, but something came to me—like the universe whispered into my ear.”
“And what did the universe have to say?” There was a decent amount of skepticism in his voice, but she ignored it.
“It told me there might be a way to get my O back,” she answered, her heart in her throat. The idea was absolutely insane, but it was her last hope. She looked her half-naked beefcake up and down, then locked onto his gray, piercing gaze. “And Erasmus Cress, you’re the only one who can help me do it.”
Eight
Libby
Libby staredat her beefcake as the remedy to her situation ricocheted around in her mind.
Like cures like.
So simple, yet so complex, it was worth a shot.
This might be the karmically craziest thing that had ever crossed her mind.
“What did the universe tell you to do?” Raz asked, concern marring his features, which wasn’t that surprising. There was an excellent chance she resembled a mad scientist ranting in a eureka moment. She paced the length of the laundry room, then stopped in front of a still befuddled-looking Erasmus Cress.
Here goes everything.
“The universe reminded me of a homeopathic concept called like cures like.”
He frowned. “I’ve never heard of it.”
Her apprehension gave way to a bubbling euphoria that thrummed through her veins. This had to be the solution. What else could foster steady chi and the return of her O better than a metaphysically balanced approach?
“There are lots of examples of like curing like or like treating like. They mean the same thing. Onions, for example,” she tossed out, excitement lacing her reply.
“Onions?” Raz repeated, looking quite the opposite of convinced.
She had to slow down and harness her excitement bordering on mania, or she’d lose him for sure.
“Onions can make you cry,” she began.
Raz sniffed, then glanced away. “I don’t cry, but I see what you’re getting at.”
“Onions,” she continued, leaning against the washer, “are the main ingredient in a homeopathic remedy that treats watery, irritated eyes. Like if you’ve got hay fever or caught a cold.”
