They finished their lunch arguing if the Dodgers would ever make it to the World Series again and whether or not the L.A. Stallions had a chance at a winning season.
“Stallions not Raiders?” Clay asked. He took the last bite of his wrap and waited.
“I know Oakland is physically closer, but I’ve always been a Stallions fan. I can’t explain it.”
Wilma appeared with the bill. Clay grabbed it before Charlie could.
“I’ve got this,” he said.
“Make sure you leave a big tip,” Wilma told him.
“Yes, ma’am.”
The old lady grinned, then ruffled his hair. “You’re not bad, kid. You can come back.”
When she left, Clay leaned toward Charlie. “Does she really get a say in that?”
“This is Fool’s Gold. There are very strange rules in play.”
He’d left a couple of twenties for what she knew to be a twenty-five-dollar tab, then stood. “Thanks for lunch,” he said.
“Thank you. With a tip like that, Wilma is going to be sending you personal invitations to return.”
“The food was good.”
She rose. “If you want, I’ll go over the application paperwork with you. To make sure everything is correct.”
“I’d appreciate that.” He pulled out his cell. “Want to give me your number?”
She nodded and rattled it off, knowing the hostess would be spitting nails if she knew. The difference was, Charlie wasn’t interested in dating Clay. But then maybe the hostess didn’t want to date, either.
They walked to the front of the restaurant, then out onto the sidewalk. Her truck was parked in front.
“That’s me,” she said, pointing.
“Okay. I’ll finish the application tonight and then call you.”
She started to say that was fine, but before she could form the words, he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.
“Thanks,” he murmured and walked away.
She stood there, on the sidewalk, her cheek all tingly and her insides doing some kind of fertility dance. Even someone with her lack of experience got the message. She was attracted to Clay. Sexually attracted. Based on how quickly she was thawing, after a few more meetings she would be reduced to a screaming, sobbing groupie.
It was just her luck that after literally a decade of not having a single erotic thought, she found herself attracted to possibly the best-looking man on the planet.
* * *
A COUPLE OF days later, Annabelle Weiss slipped into the booth at Jo’s Bar and smiled at Charlie. “I invited Patience McGraw to join us. Do you know her?”
Charlie watched the pretty brunette walk through the door and pause for a second before heading to them.
“Sure,” Charlie told her friend. “Sometimes she cuts my hair.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Annabelle glance at her short hair. Charlie rolled her eyes. “Stop it. Yes, I do get my hair cut professionally.”
“And it looks adorable.”
Charlie knew that adorable wasn’t a word that could ever be applied to her, but she accepted the comment in the spirit in which her friend meant it.
Patience approached their table. “Hi, Charlie,” she said, sliding into the booth.
Patience had grown up in Fool’s Gold. She had a daughter, Lillie, and was divorced.
“Hi, yourself,” Charlie said. “How’s it going?”
“Good.” Patience had big brown eyes and a sweet smile. “Were you waiting long?”
“I just got here,” Annabelle said. “Charlie is always hungry, so she was early.”
“I’m not always hungry,” Charlie muttered.
Patience laughed. “I was dawdling, I’m sorry to say. There’s this retail space I have my eye on.”
Annabelle drew in a breath. “You’re going to open your own salon? Does Julia know?”
Patience worked for Julia Gionni, one of the two feuding Gionni sisters. Neither woman was the kind to appreciate a valuable stylist breaking out on her own.
Patience laughed. “Don’t panic. I’m not thinking about opening my own place. Sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. I was just daydreaming.” She leaned forward. “I would love to open my own coffeehouse. Crazy, huh? I’ll be twenty-eight in December. At the rate I’m able to save money, I’ll be a hundred and seventeen by the time I have enough.”
“I think a coffeehouse is a great idea,” Annabelle told her. “Somewhere local to gather.”
“Exactly.” Patience smiled. “I have all these ideas. Do you know Trisha Wynn?”
“She helped me with a legal issue a couple of months ago,” Annabelle said.
“I dated her son,” Charlie announced.
Just then Jo came up and handed them menus. “We’re trying a new salad. It’s seasonal, with apples and fried chicken. You can get it with grilled chicken, but then I’ll pretty much think less of you. I’m just saying.”
“Can I get garlic bread on the side?” Charlie asked.
“My kind of girl. Of course you can.”
Annabelle sighed. “I want to be tall like Charlie. Then I could eat what I wanted.”
“I work out a lot, too,” Charlie reminded her.
“Yeah, I’m less interested in that part,” Annabelle admitted.
They placed their drink orders and Jo left.
Patience turned to Charlie. “I didn’t know Trisha had a son. Things didn’t work out?”
Charlie hadn’t meant to blurt out the information, but lately she seemed to be blabbing far too much personal stuff. “It was no big deal. We figured out we were better off as friends, but Trisha was bugging him about finding someone, so he took me to meet her. She and I got along great.” So much so that Trisha had been devastated when Charlie had finally come clean and admitted there wasn’t any spark.
What she hadn’t told Trisha was the lack of spark had come about because every time Evan had tried to “take things to the next level,” Charlie had frozen. Panicked would be a better word, but why go there? Unfortunately for Evan, the next level had included kissing.
Now he was married to someone Trisha didn’t like and Charlie always felt a little guilty. As if her and Trisha getting along so well
