Listen to Your Heart - Fern Michaels [50]
Paul swigged from the bottle. It was time to talk. Time to open up. Time to lighten his shoulders. It was time.
Eight
Kitty Dupré paced the long, narrow test kitchen, her face a mask of fury. “I’ve been cooking for eight straight hours and now you tell me the Larsens are canceling. Why? Who’s paying for all this?” she exploded.
“Calm down, Kitty. Emma Larsen dropped off a check twenty minutes ago. We aren’t out one cent. What we have is a ton of food. We can either eat it or take it to one of the homeless shelters. It’s no big deal. If you want me to drop it off, I will. Then I have to get ready for . . . to . . .”
“I can see where you have a narrow window of only four hours,” Kitty said. “I used to need at least six hours when I had a date with Harry. I’ll package some of this up and take it up to the house in case you want to, you know, dine in. I’m staying at Harry’s tonight. He’s due in any minute now. We have two whole days We have a free day tomorrow, so I won’t see you till Thursday. If you need me, call. Jill and I will drop the rest of this food off at the shelter. Go on, do your thing. The mangos are on the kitchen table.”
Josie threw a wooden spoon at her sister, her face flaming.
Kitty laughed and laughed. “C’mon, sis, the guy’s a stiff. He takes himself way too seriously. He needs to lighten up. Think of all the fun you could have if you’d both loosen up. Mom would tell you to go for it. She snagged Daddy with some rather unorthodox methods. Think about it.” She struck a pose, reached for the rolling pin and held it in front of her as she started to sing.
I’m getting rid of all my pantyhose,
And all those high heels with the pointy toes.
I’m gonna find myself some comfortable clothes
I’m getting rid of all my pantyhose.
Now who decided what I’m supposed to wear?
Lots of makeup and all that big hair.
I’ve got a layer I’ve gotta expose.
I’m getting rid of all my pantyhose.
Josie burst out laughing as Kitty rolled her eyes as well as the rolling pin, pretending she was on stage. She strutted the length of the kitchen to Josie’s delight.
“Enough! That song has been buzzing in my brain since the day you bought that Corinda Carford CD.”
“Do you think I have the makings of a songbird?” Kitty laughed.
“You are no Corinda Carford—that’s for sure. So don’t quit your day job.”
“Don’t forget what I told you about the mangos. They’re soooo ripe.”
“One nutcase in the family is enough. If you’re sure you don’t need me, then I have things to do. You could drop the Larsens’ check off at the bank on your way to the shelter. It’s on my desk, along with the deposit slip. We need to send some flowers. Mr. Larsen is in traction at the hospital. He slipped on some soapsuds in the laundry room. I guess he lay there in agony until his son came in from school. He’ll be fine, though.”
“I’ll order the flowers. Where are the dogs?”
“In the kitchen. I’ll keep them with me.”
Josie galloped up to the house, her heart thumping in her chest. She was going to see Paul in a few hours. A good, long soak in a bubble bath. A manicure and a pedicure were definitely called for. She needed to shave her legs, and she definitely needed to do something with her hair. Four hours to ground zero. Four hours until Paul Brouillette walked through her kitchen door. She closed her eyes and whirled around the kitchen. Both dogs followed her every move, as she twirled the dishtowel this way and that, a dreamy look on her face. She stopped for a minute and picked up one of the mangos from the bowl on the kitchen table. No way. Never in a million years. Kitty was right: They were so ripe. Another day and they would be rotten. So much juice. So delicious. She could almost feel the warm, sticky juice dripping down between her breasts. Almost.
“Let’s go, guys. Time