Heather choked on her coffee. “First of all, it’s a nude bra, not light brown.”
“It’s brown,” he said, sipping his own coffee.
“Second of all,” she continued, “where on earth did you get the idea that we were going to do the deed?”
He shrugged. “You were muttering about needing a cold shower, and I can assure you that scratching the itch is a better solution than trying to stifle it.”
“Gross.”
“Also,” he said, “I just saw your ass, and . . . well-done, 4C. From the day I met you, I knew you had sweet buns, and we just confirmed it.”
Heather laughed and put a hand on his chest, shoving him backward. “Out. For real this time.”
“Fine,” he called after she shut the door in his face. “But don’t think I didn’t notice that you just copped a feel of my pecs!”
She was still smiling by the time she got out of the shower and got dressed, purposefully wearing the nude bra just to spite him, even though he’d never know it, she reminded herself firmly.
The sweater he’d set out was one of her favorites, so she put that on, and then spent a little extra time with her makeup, just because it was a holiday and all.
“How much time do we have?” she called through the door as she added another coat of mascara.
“Dry your hair,” he called back. “I don’t want you dying from exposure on me.”
She opened the door and found him sitting on her kitchen counter, flipping through something on his phone. “How’d you know that’s why I was asking?”
“Twin sister, remember?” he asked, not glancing up from the screen.
“Yeah, about that,” she said, leaning a shoulder on the doorjamb of her bedroom door and studying him. “How is it that you’ve never mentioned Jamie?”
“We have time for you to dry your hair, not chitchat,” he said.
“Right. Heaven forbid we talk in between arguments.” She shut the door again, disappointed to be shut down, but not surprised.
Still, odd that he’d never mentioned a twin. It implied they weren’t close, but then, he’d flown out to see her the week of Thanksgiving, when travel was a nightmare. They had to have at least a somewhat stable relationship.
Thirty minutes later, Heather’s hair was mostly dry, courtesy of the expensive diffuser attachment on her dryer that kept her curls from frizzing up (much), and Josh was standing at the front door holding out her coat and purse for her.
“I feel weird going to someone’s house empty-handed,” she said, slipping her arms into the coat as he held it for her.
“We’re not. Flowers, remember? Mom’s also invited her neighbors and my dad’s parents over, and even after thirty-four years of marriage, she’s hell-bent on winning over my grandma. She’s pretty sure the perfect centerpiece will do it.”
“And that has what to do with me?”
“Are you or are you not a wedding planner?”
“Sure, but I hire the florists. I’m not one myself,” she said as he all but shoved her out of her front door.
“You’ve got a leg up on me. I brought her yellow carnations last year when she’d invited her priest to dinner, and she nearly disowned me.”
“Yellow carnations? Jesus. It’s a good thing you’re pretty,” Heather said.
As it turned out, Josh wasn’t bad at selecting flowers so much as disinterested, opting to flirt with the cute young assistant working the cash register as Heather talked shop with the owner.
Truth be told, Josh had been right. Heather was in her element, and she loved this. And if she was being even more honest, she was secretly thrilled to put her skills to use for someone who’d appreciate them.
Heather loved her mom to death. She really did. But she’d long given up showing off any of her skills when she went home. Her mom insisted that fake flowers were a better investment than real ones, that she’d rather have her trusty Nutter Butters than the delicate macaroons that Heather had carefully carried onto the plane in lieu of carry-on luggage.
She knew her mother didn’t mean to belittle Heather’s career, but she’d be lying if she didn’t secretly wish her mom got it. Just a little. Maybe was even a bit proud of her daughter for all that she’d accomplished.