Page 102 of Out on a Limb
I didn’t want to spoil this night. I was finally out with Andrew. I should be thrilled.
It just wasn’t looking like I was hoping it would.
I waited for the valet to come our way, trying to pump myself up for a night that most women would kill to have. The Sweet Side was beautiful inside. The food was amazing. I even heard they’d updated their music selection.
But, instead of coming to force us from my Jeep, the valets all disappeared inside.
And Michael came out, carrying two large brown paper shopping bags as he headed straight for my door.
He pulled it open, his handsome face carrying an easy smile. “Good evening, Ms. Johnson.” He passed me the first of the bags. “I was under the impression a table inside might not be your most desired evening.”
The door closed and I stared down into the bag. It smelled amazing.
Michael opened Andrew’s door and passed him the second bag with a wink. “Enjoy your evening, Mr. Simmons.”
And then he was gone.
Michael might be as magical as Elaine.
Andrew stared down into the bag.
“What is it?”
“What I should have done in the first place.” Andrew shifted my Jeep into drive and pulled away from The Sweet Side, taking us back out onto the road before turning toward my house.
I didn’t love driving and I’d managed to convince Andrew my dress wasn’t easy to maneuver in.
Hopefully I could do the same with shorts, because the less I had to drive the better. Maybe I could ask Elaine how she got Michael to drive her around.
Hopefully it involved sexual favors.
Andrew leaned my way when we stopped at a light. “What’s in your bag?”
I snapped the top closed. “If you won’t tell me what’s in yours then I’m not telling you what’s in mine.”
“You act like I can’t smell it from here.” His lips edged their way toward a smile.
I scoffed. “You’re not even going to pretend like you don’t know what I have?” It was the least he could do, considering I had no idea what might be in the bag Michael gave him.
Andrew’s smile slipped. “There’s no way for me to ignore what you have, Collette.”
The light turned green and we were moving again, leaving me to stare at Andrew’s profile as he drove.
Something was bothering him, and unfortunately I had a pretty good idea what it was.
“I don’t care about money, Andrew.”
I ran into this problem pretty frequently with men. Often enough that I did my best to hide what I had for as long as possible.
But there was no hiding it from Andrew.
“Everyone cares about money, Pickles.”
It was a frustrating conversation that I didn’t necessarily want to be having right now, but there was no way around it. “Money matters. I’m not saying that it doesn’t.”
Money paid bills and bought food and invested for the future.
But it did not create happiness. Not really.
