Page 8 of Love Lessons
“That’s cute!” Charli says. “Show me how you did that.”
I give her a quick tutorial. After clearing my throat, I say, “I noticed that my neighbor is here.”
Charli laughs. “Kind of hard to miss Ian, right? He makes his presence known.”
“Is he going on the trip?” I ask carefully.
“Sure is. Why? Is that a problem?”
I shake my head. “No, of course not.” I don’t want to admit that he unsettles me. I don’t even have a good reason.
“He is a little rough around the edges,” Charli says. “But he doesn’t set off my jerk-meter, and that sucker is finely tuned.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” I say quickly. Charli is an excellent judge of character. She’s one of my newest friends. We only met in February, but I liked her so much that a few months later she became my first and only employee. “I’m sure he’s a solid guy if Neil likes him. Have I met everyone else who’s coming?”
“Think so,” Charli says, folding another swan. “Heidi Jo and Jason Castro. Anton and Sylvie. My teammate Fiona might join us at the last minute if she can make it work.”
“Nice,” I say. “You know I really can’t wait.”
That’s not an exaggeration, either. Like Charli, I’ve never been to Europe. I’ve barely been anywhere, really. A free trip to Italy on a private jet? I was beside myself when Charli invited me to come along. Nobody ever ran to the passport desk at the post office faster than this girl.
The fact that Ian Crikey will be there too shouldn’t make any difference. I’ll be too busy touring Italian villas and planning day trips to Milan, the fashion capital of Europe.
I won’t even notice he’s there.
Much.
“So tell me about this guy,” Charli says as we fold the last two swans.
“Guy?” Visions of Crikey’s strong forearms swim into my brain.
“The ex. The one who’s been texting you.”
“Oh! Danforth.” I give myself a shake. “I forgot we spoke about him.”
“Really?” She gives me a sidelong glance. “He’s all you could talk about on the subway the other day.”
I cringe, because it’s probably true. Danforth is my ex. He and I met in college, at CUNY. We were both ambitious; I was going to storm the fashion world, and he was going to become a venture capitalist.
We made a perfect couple. I loved him, and we were planning a future together. Or so I thought. But then he’d been accepted to Harvard’s business school, and I assumed I’d move to Boston to be with him. He dumped me instead. That had been three years ago.
Then, just last week, he moved back to New York to work at a big Wall Street investment bank. I’d had a hunch it would happen, because I stalk him on LinkedIn. But I didn’t expect a text from him, asking how I’d been.
In a major victory, I made myself wait two hours before answering it. Since then, we’ve continued the conversation.
“Are you two still chatting? Are you going to see him?” she prompts.
“We’re texting on and off,” I admit. “Still making myself wait before I answer any of his messages. Like I’m too busy to fit him in, you know? It’s nearly true.”
“Youarebusy,” Charli says loyally. “You’re launching a dream. And I get to put makeup on it.”
“Facts.” Charli is the best self-trained makeup artist I’ve ever met. With her onboard, I’ve begun incorporating some beauty offerings into my business. There’s a nice markup on beauty products, and my growing stable of regulars have been loving their sessions with Charli.
“What do you think he wants?” she presses. “And what doyouwant? Do you want to kiss him or slap him?”
“All good questions.” I let out a sigh. “The sad truth is that I’m still a little hung up on Danforth. It’s really tempting to go running back to him.”
Not that he’s asked you to, my critical voice interjects.
