Waiting…
Me too…
Jesus you’re stubborn. I’m driving back from LA. Happy now?
Yes, thank you. I’m baking pumpkin bread.
It’s a good thing I’m at a gas station right now and not driving or I would have a hard time keeping the car on the road…
Right, the baking gets you worked up, doesn’t it?
You have no idea.
So I probably shouldn’t tell you I smell like
cinnamon and ginger right now?
Caroline.
My raisins are soaking in brandy this very minute.
That’s it…
I peered out the window again, scanning the street below, and stil no sign of the Rover. The fog was quite thick, and although I didn’t want to be
a nag, I was becoming a little concerned that he wasn’t home yet. Here I sat, with cooling loaves, and no Simon had shown up to inhale them. I
picked up my phone to text him, but then cal ed instead. I didn’t want him texting while he was on the road. It rang a few times, and then he picked
up.
“Hi there, my favorite baker,” he purred, and my knees clanked together. He was like the best Kegel exercise ever—instant clench.
“Are you close?”
“Pardon me?” He laughed.
“Close to home. Are you close to home?” I asked, rol ing my eyes and unclenching.
“Yes, why?”
“There seems to be a lot of fog tonight. I mean, more than usual…Be careful, okay?”
“That’s very sweet of you to be looking out for me.”
“Shut up, mister. I always look out for my friends,” I scolded, beginning to get ready for bed. I was a multi-tasker from way back. I could do my
taxes while getting waxed and not bat an eye. I could certainly get undressed while talking to Simon. Ahem.
“Friends? Is that what we are?” he asked.
“What the hel else would we be?” I shot back, pul ing off my shorts and grabbing a pair of thick woolen socks. The floor was chil y tonight.
“Hmmm,” he muttered as I took off my T-shirt and slipped into a button-down to sleep in.
“Wel , while you’re hmmming, I have to tel you about a visit I had earlier this week from a friend of yours.”
“A friend of mine? This sounds intriguing.”
“Yep, Julie Andrews accent, buttoned-up Brit? Ring any bel s? She dropped off a box for you.”
His laughter rang out immediately. “Julie Andrews accent—that’s bril iant! That must have been Lizzie. You met Lizzie!” He laughed like this
was the funniest thing ever.
“Lizzie Schmizzie. She’l always be the Giggler to me.” I smirked, sitting on the edge of my bed and applying some lotion.
“Why do you cal her the Giggler?” he asked, playing innocent, and I could tel he was on the verge of absolute hysterics.
“You real y need me to tel you? Come on, even you can’t be that thick—never mind, walked right into that one.” I cut him off before he could
regale me with how thick he was, indeed. I’d been pressed up against that very thick in a hot tub, so I was familiar. Kegel. And, thank you, another
Kegel.
“I like messing with you, Nightie Girl. It gives me a chuckle.”
“First spiffy, now a chuckle? I worry about you, Simon.” I returned to the living room to turn off lights and get the place ready for bed. This
included freshening Clive’s water bowl and hiding a few Pounce treats around the apartment. He enjoyed playing Big Game Hunter while I slept
sometimes, with the Pounce, of course, playing the part of the Big Game. Some nights the pil ows were unfortunately involved, as wel as any hair
ties, loose shoelaces, and pretty much anything else that seemed appealing around two a.m. Some mornings my place looked like Wild Kingdom
had been filmed overnight.
“Wel , no worries. I’l pick it up when I get back. So, did you two have a nice chat?”
“We chatted briefly, yes. But no dirty secrets were shared. Although with the thin wal s, I’m already a bit familiar. How is the lonely haremette?
Missing her sisters?” I flipped off the lights and padded through the kitchen to fetch the Big Game. I was dying to ask him if he’d actual y broken up
with the Giggler. Did he, did he not?
“She may be a bit lonely, yes,” he said, in what I thought sounded like a careful way. Hmm…
“Lonely because…” I led, pausing in my Pounce-scattering.
“Lonely because, wel , let’s just say, for the first time in a very long time, I am…wel …I am…you see…” he stuttered and stal ed, dancing around
the issue.
“Go on, out with it,” I instructed, barely breathing.
“Without…female companionship. Or as you would say, harem free.” His words came out in a quiet whoosh, and my legs began a little shimmy