Susan Mallery - The Sassy One

She swallowed. “You’re right. I guess-”

She stopped talking because she didn’t know what to say. A confession that she’d been overcome by passion would only be embarrassing. If not for him, then for her.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

All right? She was perfect. She was so good, she could have started singing opera.

She went for a cool, confident, I-do-this-sort-of-thing-all-the-time smile. “Absolutely.”

She turned toward her truck and headed for the driver’s door. Whatever sophistication she might have faked crumbled when she completely missed the door lock and nearly put the key through the side of her truck.

She felt herself blush. “Oops,” she muttered.

“Francesca?”

She glanced over her shoulder and saw him standing behind her.

“I’ll call you tomorrow afternoon and set up a time for tomorrow night. Will you be in?”

In? She would probably be curled up on the sofa, reliving the best kiss since Kelly McGillis and Tom Cruise did the tongue thing in Top Gun. “Sure. I have to work on my dissertation.”

“I’ll talk to you then.”

She nodded and climbed into the truck. Sam stepped close.

“Thank you for tonight,” he said and carefully closed her door.

She wanted to respond in kind, or say something clever. But her mind was still reeling from the kiss. So she settled on a wave, then she started her engine and pulled out onto the road.

As she drove through the intersection, she began humming a peppy tune from Toscanini.

Francesca didn’t sleep much that night, and woke with the sun the following morning, so it took half of a second pot of coffee to get her brain functioning.

Once she was able to think in complete sentences, she cleared her tiny kitchen table of a stack of textbooks, grabbed a sheet of notebook paper and sat down to make a list.

There were the usual chores of laundry, grocery shopping-always a challenge with her budget-and vacuuming. Then there was the outline for her dissertation that had been due ten days ago and was yet to be started. Finally there was the thrill of doing her best not to think about Sam, their previous date, their future date, and the impending phone call.

She felt giddy. She felt wonderfully alive and in tune with the cosmos. She felt more than a little stirring low in her belly. Her heretofore silent female bits were currently line dancing in anticipation of rousing activity.

“You don’t actually know he’s going to want to have sex,” she told herself sternly as she poured a fourth cup of coffee. “One kiss does not a physical relationship make.”

True. But it had been an amazing kiss. One that deserved, if not its own national holiday, then at least a stamp.

The way Sam had pulled her close and taken charge. The feel of his mouth on hers. The taste of him, the heat that they’d-

A knock on the door interrupted her musings. Reluctantly Francesca banished her R-rated thoughts and crossed to the door. When she pulled it open, she found Mia, her baby sister, standing on the threshold.

“I came to say good-bye,” Mia said as she stepped into the small apartment. “Do you have coffee? Something for breakfast? I’m starved.”

Francesca laughed. “Anything else in your list of demands? How about money? You want a loan?”

Mia hugged her. “No way. You’re broke.”

On that cheerful note she led the way into the kitchen.

Francesca followed, then leaned against the door frame as Mia poured coffee and added a large splash of milk. She took a sip, then set the mug on the counter and opened the freezer door.

“Did Brenna leave any doughnuts in here?” she asked as she rummaged through a couple of frozen entrées, ravioli sent over by Grandma Tessa, and an emergency pint of Ben & Jerry’s.

“I don’t think so,” Francesca said, then shook her head as Mia held up a foil-wrapped container.

“Don’t you check for stuff like this?” she asked. “Brenna lived with you for almost a month after she and Jeff split up. Didn’t it occur to you that she would have put doughnuts in the freezer?”

“Honestly, no.”

“For someone with a degree in psychology, you sure don’t know your twin.”

Francesca laughed. “I thought she’d take the doughnuts with her.”

“Uh-huh.”

Mia finished unwrapping the Krispy Kremes and slid them onto a paper towel. Then she set them in the microwave and punched in fifteen seconds.

The old machine whirred and shook slightly as it hummed to life. Mia frowned.

“Is this safe? Are we going to get radiation burns from this?”

“I don’t think microwaves use radiation.”

As if not willing to risk any potential danger, Mia took a step back. Francesca grinned.

When the timer beeped, Mia pulled out the paper towel and carried it to the table. “Come on,” she said. “I’ll share.”

“I should hope so. If Brenna left the food in the house, then it’s legally mine.”

Mia grabbed her coffee and pulled out a chair. Despite the relatively early hour on a Saturday, she looked alert and rested. Her big eyes were bright and clear. Her dark hair had been freshly streaked with blond highlights, and for once she wasn’t wearing enough makeup to make a Vegas showgirl proud.

Francesca settled across from her and took one of the steaming doughnuts.

“Where’s your face?” she asked.

Mia wrinkled her nose. “Mom begged me not to look slutty this summer while I’m in D.C. That was her exact word. Do I look slutty to you?”

Francesca studied the pretty features, the round cheeks and grinning mouth. “Not now.”

Mia balled up a napkin and threw it at her. “Katie’s always getting on me about my makeup, too. I think it’s because you’re all so old. You’re just jealous.”

“I’m sure that’s it.”

Mia finished her doughnut and reached for another. “My plane leaves early tomorrow. The folks are driving me into L.A. this afternoon, and I’m spending the night at an airport hotel. In-room movies and room service. Wanna come? It’s on them. And don’t say you don’t mooch. This is different.”

Francesca was more concerned with her date that night than sponging off her parents. “I know it’s different.”

Mia rolled her eyes. “You’re so stubborn. You know Mom and Dad would love to help you out financially. Why don’t you let them? I’m in college and they help me. Should I feel guilty?”

It was a familiar argument. “Of course not. Mia, you’re eighteen, you’re brilliant, and of course the folks want to pay for your school.”

“So you’re old. That doesn’t mean they wouldn’t help.”

“I’m going to ignore the ‘old’ part,” Francesca told her. “I was married. I’ve been on my own. It was my choice to go to college after Todd died, and it’s important for me to pay my own way. I want to be independent-it’s one of the reasons I took back my maiden name.”

“You’d think that old poophead would have at least left you a few bucks,” Mia grumbled.

“You’d think,” Francesca agreed. “But he didn’t and I’m doing fine.”

Mia eyed the small dark kitchen. “If you say so.”

“I do. Now let’s talk about you. Are you excited to go to Washington?”

Mia shimmied in her chair. “D.C. is going to be so great. I still wish I was taking my language class in Japan, but this is nearly as good. I figure when I’m not studying, I’ll hang out by the Capitol and meet some cute congressional aides.” She sipped her coffee. “I mean, I am recovering from a broken heart.”

Francesca shook her head. Mia might have recently broken up with her fiancé, but there weren’t any broken hearts in sight.

“You seem to have moved from ‘recovering’ to ‘recovered,’ ” Francesca said.