Isabel Sharpe - Long Slow Burn

She opened her email program while she scratched soft ears and brought Jezebel’s rumbling purr to life. New emails: five. One from a college roommate, one from Mom and Dad …

Marie’s eyes jumped down the list. One from Quinn? How did he get home so much faster than she had?

Her phone rang and she did a comical back and forth, phone to email to phone, before grabbing the receiver and checking caller ID. Candy. She’d take it.

“Hey, woman, what’s up?”

“Ugh.” Candy’s melodramatic exasperation made Marie smile. “I just came back from the cocktail party from hell. The caterer was late, someone stole half the booze, one guest drank the other half and threw up, you name it.”

“That does not sound fun.” She touched her mouse, staring at Quinn’s email, then snatched her hand back.

“Anyway, I’m looking ahead and life is going to be a little calmer for a week or two, so we should get serious about planning Kim’s party.”

“Right. We should.” She swiveled her chair away from the monitor so Quinn’s note wouldn’t tempt her while talking to her friend, but it was as if it was sending out rays that burned her back. “I’ve already enlisted her brother, Kent, and that Nathan guy to help.”

“Perfect. We’ll need pictures of her at various ages, maybe a few personal items, like, I don’t know, some favorite stuffed animal or toy, old favorite outfits, diplomas, awards, anything like that. Her mom might have some stuff to contribute. We should also find out her favorite foods, beverages, all that, too. And figure out where we want to have it.”

“We can do it at my office or we can—”

“Ooh, I forgot to ask, how did her meeting with you go? Did she like Troy?”

Marie tsk-tsked. “Client confidentiality, Candy. You can ask her.”

“Aw c’mon. You can’t even—” A deep voice sounded in the background, then Candy sighed. “Justin says I shouldn’t snoop.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I hope she finds someone. She’s so sweet.”

Marie scratched under Jezebel’s chin. “Ah, but I’m betting there’s a vixen in there somewhere.”

“A vixen! “ Candy whistled. “Has anyone used that term in the past twenty years?”

“So I’m old.” She rolled her eyes. “Go jump on Justin and leave me alone.”

“Mmm, good idea.” Candy sighed blissfully. “So I’ll plan and you set our spies in motion. Oh, and I had a great idea for an early birthday present from the three of us, you, me and Darcy. Next Saturday I want to try out a salon where I might get my wedding hair done. I think we should make it a spa day, invite everyone and then pay for Kim.”

“I love it! I was thinking along the lines of sexy underwear to inspire her on the dating quest.”

“Ha!” Candy giggled. “That is too perfect. Let’s do both.”

“Done.” Marie gave in, twisted around and peeked. She hadn’t dreamed it; the email was still there.

Candy chatted a minute more, then Marie made her escape and shamelessly spun the chair back to her computer, Jezebel giving a brief mrrf of protest. Marie clicked open the email from Quinn, scanned the words, caught her breath and read them again, her brain whirling in confusion.

Go back though your life looking for messages you received about your sexuality …

Why had he sent the email to her? A blind copy? A carbon? A mistake? She peered at the header. He’d sent it to her directly. And she’d been sitting right there at Roots; he hadn’t sent it twice. What the hell?

That reminds me of someone I know . He’d been talking about another woman who didn’t realize how sexy she was.

He couldn’t be talking about Marie.

She hit Reply, typed quickly.

Did you send this to me by mistake? Or is this a blind copy?

Then she hit Send and got up from the desk, pushing a very annoyed Jezebel off her lap because there was no way she’d survive sitting there waiting for him to respond. She’d go completely mental.

Her email chimed. She whirled around in the middle of the room. Already?

Of course, it could be from anyone.

She rushed to peer at the screen. It was from Quinn. A simple response, straight to the point.

Answering both questions: Absolutely not.

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