Page 47 of Say It Again
“That’s part of it. Let me work on the price on my end. Maybe I can find some wiggle room—”
“No. Please, no. This is your life’s work, and what you’ve offered me is discounted enough. I shouldn’t have brought this to you.” He gathered all the papers in a tizzy. “I didn’t know who else to talk to, but I shouldn’t burden you with this. It’s not your responsibility.”
“Hey, stop.” She pinned the papers down on the desk. “I said I would help you, and this is me helping. Leave it with me, and let me look at everything tonight. Even if we have to get creative, we can do this. You can do this.”
Could he? Her devoted faith in him was lovely and all, but it highlighted his lack of faith in himself.
She shuffled the papers into a messenger bag. “I’ve got to run. Paul and I are off to a microwinery for the weekend.” Madeline’s plans always made his look déclassé by comparison. “I’ll see you Monday.”
“Okay.” He followed her toward the door. “Let me know if your husband changes his mind about adopting me.”
“Ciao, Madeline!” Olivia held a bag of chips as she materialized from the back room. “Have so much fun. I’ll miss you.”
“I was just going to say that—have so much fun, Madeline!” Daniel smiled. “I’ll miss you more than her.”
“But you’ll miss me more,” Olivia said, cutting in front of him. “Because I’m your favorite.”
“No, you won’t.” Daniel punched the chip bag. “And no, she isn’t.”
“Behave.” Madeline kissed them both, the double-cheeked French thing, and disappeared around the corner.
“So.” Olivia waggled her eyebrows. “How’s it going with your fancy boyfriend?”
“Girl, perfect.” Daniel ran to perform a striking fouetté sauté in the mirror, which he ended in a deep bow. “He’s the perfect man. God’s gift to gays.”
“Show-off.” She joined him on the dance floor, circling him in spins, chips in hand. “Is he that sexy?”
“He’s more than sexy.” He fouetté turned, balanced and beautiful. “He’s honest and tender, and you should have seen him stand up to my dad. That man could take me to a random tree stump in the woods, and I’d be all Oh, this stump? Enchanté, stump.”
She high-kicked, flex-footed and clunky.
“And plus”—he grand jeté’d because now he was showing off—“he thinks my emotional instability is adorable.”
“I will say,” she said as she shimmed across his view of himself in the mirror, “you do pull off emotionally unstable well.”
He landed a brilliant aerial cartwheel to abruptly stack his hands on his hips and catch his breath. “You think so?”
“Well?” She tipped her head side to side. “No. But you can’t tell an emotionally unstable person the truth about most stuff. I thought you knew that.”
“You make it seem like everyone lies to shield me.”
“No. No, of course we don’t.” She crunched a chip. Then tipped her head side to side again. “Well?”
“Anyway. He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s hanging out with me tonight.” He clapped giddily. “Listen to this plan. Firstly, I write a thank-you note from the bottom of my thankful heart. Secondly, I snag a delicious albeit frozen pizza from somewhere. Lastly, I show up at his apartment with the note and the pizza and surprise him. What do you think?”
She blinked. “Okay, and…?”
He cut his eyes to the side. “Okay, and what?”
“Well. That’s it? You’re not showing up in a trench coat with nothing underneath it?”
“A trench—?” He angled his head. “No one does that in real life. Who owns a literal trench coat to do that with? A pizza and a thank-you note.”
“It’s just not that sexy.”
“It’s not supposed to be sexy.” He squinted at her as he grabbed his coat from under the counter. “It’s supposed to be cutesy.”
“You could just use that coat. It’s not trench, but it’ll work. Here, I’ll shield you. Take off all your clothes.”