Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Wink, wink, indeed. “And I trust you’ll use it well,” I say.
“We love your column but especially the reader comments. That’s my favorite part—the Q and A,” she adds. “We read it after the kids go to bed, of course.”
“So glad to hear that,” I say as I ring up some bright red buds.
“And I’m trying to decide if I want the new butterfly vibe from Just for Her,” she says, and I love how bold she is, asking for sex-toy advice as she shops. “It’s pricey. I can’t decide if I want to spring for it.”
I beckon her closer. “The company just sent me one. For free. Gah. I’m still dancing.”
She gasps. “You have arrived.”
I preen a little. “It might have been one of the greatest moments of my life. But I need to test it solo. Last night, I used another one.”
One well-groomed eyebrow arches. “Did I just hear last night I used another one . . . with a man?”
Ohhh. I suppose that cat’s about to come out of the bag in my column. I give a coy smile. “I sure did. Man and vibe. And it was soul-shattering.”
She beams. Then she blinks. “Wait. Hold on. Does that mean . . . ?”
She sounds worried, so I toy with her for fun. “That I have to retire?” I ask with a frown.
“Well, do you? Please say no, please say no.”
I smile. “My editor and I discussed my status when I started the column. We’d just change the name to The Virgin Club Alumni.”
Ashlee laughs. “Get it, girl.”
She takes the tulips and goes. A few seconds later, Mister Big Ears strides over. “Should I add toys to the inventory?”
“Maybe you should,” I say playfully, then furrow my brow. “Do you want me to stop talking about them when customers ask?”
“Hell no. I might even change the name to Bikes, Blooms, and Buzz.” He steals a glance at the bike side of the shop. Zara and Ian are busy with customers, with James working on a bike, so Milo lowers his voice. “When can I see you tonight? I’ve got my palm ready and willing to smack your gorgeous ass.”
With a devious glint in his eyes, he lifts his right hand and mimes swatting, and I laugh.
“Oh, you won’t be laughing later,” he teases.
“Good,” I say, my stomach flipping. Then I turn serious. “I have to teach my Little Artists class on Christopher Street. I should be done by seven-thirty,” I say, and I’m about to suggest we meet at my place at eight-thirty or nine, but Milo says, “I’ll pick you up after class if you’d like. We can get a bite to eat first.”
Tingles whoosh down my chest. I wasn’t expecting a date or a pickup. But I am not turning them down. “Sounds perfect.”
I’m not feeling so perfect that evening when I check my email as I head to class. Walking up Seventh Avenue, I read a note from Peterson Books for Young Readers, thanking me for my résumé and saying it’s on file. My shoulders sink. That’s a shame, because Peterson had posted a specific job opening I was more than qualified for. It’s strange that I wouldn’t even get a personal reply, and my stomach twists with worry. Then it knots tighter when I read the next email. It’s from Reiss and Reardon, and it’s an automated message—we have no openings at this time.
But that’s not true. Reiss had an opening as a middle grade editor, and while it was an executive editor job that I’m probably not qualified for, it was still an opening. This email feels like a lie, but it’s not as if I can point fingers at this generic HR reply.
When I reach the community center, I do my best to put the nagging fears out of my mind as I go inside, head to the art room, and smile for the kids. “Who wants to create today?”
The beaming faces of the kiddos help me ignore my woes for the next hour as we work on collages, sprinkling some with glitter.
When class ends and I’ve cleaned up, the head of the community center walks out with me. “Looks like your new gig is going great,” Jessica says with a curious glint in her dark eyes.
“It is. I’m enjoying it,” I say. That’s all true. It’s been the temporary gig of my dreams, but the bike and flower shop is not hashtag life goals.
“I got a new bike there a couple weeks ago, and I saw your sign out front, then checked out each new one after that on social. So clever. Would you ever be interested in doing some social for us? For pay, of course.”
Wow. I wasn’t expecting that. I don’t see myself as a social media strategist, but I won’t turn down good side gigs. “Sure. I’m open to that,” I say cheerily.