“Simon’s going to bring back the O!” Mimi cheered, attracting more than a little attention.
“Oh, hush. We’l see. If, and this is a big fat if, ladies. If I ever al ow anything to happen between Simon and me, it’s gonna be on my terms.
Which would include no harem, no drinking, and no hot tubbing.”
“I don’t know, Caroline. No drinking? I think it’d be criminal to be in Spain and not be indulging in a little sangria,” Mimi piped up.
“Wel , I do enjoy me some sangria,” I mused. Visions of Simon and me, sipping sangria while watching the Spanish sunset. Hmmm…
Text between Simon and Caroline:
So are you the type of girl who wears
a big floppy hat on the beach?
Pardon me?
You know, those crazy giant beach hats? Do you have one?
As it happens, yes. Is this a concern of yours?
Concern, no. Just trying to get a visual of you
on the beach in Spain…
How’s that working out for you?
Pretty spiffy.
Spiffy? Did you just say spiffy?
I typed it actual y. You got something against spiffy?
This explains the old records…
HEY!
I enjoy the old records. You know this…
I do know this…
Are we really going to Spain together?
Yep.
Are you home? I didn’t see the Rover this morning.
Checking up on me?
Perhaps… where are you, Simon?
Have a shoot in LA, driving back in a few days.
Can I see you when I get back?
We’ll see…
I’l play records for you.
Spiffy.
“So, since things are al completed on the Nicholson project, I was thinking…since I have a jump on the commercial project I’m starting next,
and you mentioned before that I could take some time off before we get busy for the holiday season, that, wel , maybe I could…”
“Spit it out, Caroline. You trying to ask me if you can go to Spain with Simon?” Jil ian demanded, not trying very hard to hide her smile.
“Maybe.” I winced, dropping my forehead to the desk.
“You’re a grown woman, capable of making her own decisions. You know I think it’s a good time to take vacation, so why should I tel you
whether you should go away with Simon or not?”
“Jil ian, to clarify, I’m not going away with Simon. You make it sound like some il icit affair.”
“Right, right, it’s just two young people off to enjoy a little Spanish culture. How could I forget?” Jil ian drawled, insinuation al over her face, as
wel as a little satisfaction. She was enjoying my squirming.
“Okay, okay, so can I go?” I asked, knowing I would never hear the end of it, but past caring.
“Of course you can. But can I just say one thing?” she asked, eyebrows raised.
“Like I could stop you,” I grumbled.
“You couldn’t, actual y. Al I ask is that you have a good time, play hard, but take care of him while you’re there, okay?” she asked, her face
taking on a seriousness I rarely saw.
“Take care of him? What is he, seven?” I laughed, stifling it immediately when I saw she was not kidding.
“Caroline, this trip wil change things. You must know that. And I love you both. I don’t want either of you to get hurt, no matter what transpires
while you’re there,” she said softly. I started to make a joke, but I stopped. I knew what she was asking.
“Jil ian, I don’t know quite what’s going on between Simon and me, and I’ve no idea what’s going to happen in Spain. But I can tel you, I’m
excited about this trip. And I get the sense he is too,” I added.
“Oh, my dear, he’s definitely excited. Just…Oh, never mind. You’re both adults. Go crazy on each other in Spain.”
“First you tel me to be gentle, and now you tel me to go crazy?” I grumbled.
She reached across the desk to pat my hand affectionately. Then she took a deep breath and changed the mood in the room entirely. “Now
then, fil me in on where we stand with James Brown. What’s left to be done?”
I smiled and flipped my planner open to the end of the week, when I would be finished with Al Things James Brown.
A few nights later I was settling into my couch comfortably with Mr. Clive and Barefoot Contessa when I heard something in the hal way. Clive
and I looked at each other, and he jumped off my lap to investigate. I knew Simon wasn’t due home for another day or so based on his texts—and
the fact that I might have been counting the days—so I fol owed Clive to my old post: The Peephole.
As I peered out into the hal way, there was a flash of strawberry-blond hair at Simon’s door. Who was visiting Simon? Was I wrong to stare?
What was that package she had? The woman the hair belonged to knocked once, then twice, and then before I knew it, she whirled about and