The Second Time Around. Marie Ferrarella

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The Second Time Around - Marie  Ferrarella

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when she glanced over in that direction, was littered with files. Having fallen behind in her paperwork, the way she periodically did, she’d obviously spent the afternoon trying to catch up.

      And just as obviously, Jeannie had been watching the door for her return, Laurel thought.

      Paperwork, she knew, bored Jeannie to tears. The woman craved drama, mystery and live interaction. Apparently, in lieu of her beloved soap operas, which provided all three, Jeannie had decided to declare her all three, at least for the afternoon.

      “You were gone a long time with Mr. Hunk.” There was no missing the implication pulsating behind each word. Laurel paused at the main bulletin board to move the pin beside her name from the box labeled “out” to the one labeled “in.” “Anything worthwhile come of it?” Jeannie pressed.

      “His name is Robert Manning,” Laurel told her, hoping Jeannie would stop referring to the man as “Hunk.” She made her way to her desk. “We went to high school together. And I was showing him houses. A whole bunch of houses.” Draping her trench coat over the back of her chair, she glanced past her shoulder at the other woman. “Fifteen in all before he finally decided he’d had enough.”

      Hearing something that piqued her interest, Jeannie had stopped listening to the rest of what Laurel had said. “You went to high school together?” She shifted around to the front of the desk as Laurel sat down. “You never mentioned that there was anyone that gorgeous in your background.”

      “That’s because he wasn’t.” She could see the simple disclaimer just raised more questions. Laurel took a fortifying breath and added, “In my background or gorgeous.”

      Jeannie clucked and shook her head. “Time for glasses, Laurel.” Instead of returning to her own desk and sitting down, Jeannie planted herself in the chair meant for incoming clients. “I told you it would catch up to you, all that fine print you always insisted on reading.”

      Laurel supposed it wouldn’t hurt to give her friend a few more details. Jeannie would just continue to chip away at her until she got what she wanted.

      “Bobby—Robert,” she corrected, “didn’t look like that when I knew him.”

      Interest continued to grow in Jeannie’s soft brown eyes at a very prodigious rate. “A late bloomer?” she guessed.

      “Very late,” Laurel confirmed. She lowered her voice, leaning in toward the other woman. “And before you let that overactive imagination of yours take you running down soap-opera lane, all I did was show him houses,” she enunciated clearly. “Is that understood?”

      Jeannie’s expression all but shouted, “Yeah, right.” Out loud, she asked skeptically, “For over three hours?”

      Jeannie, Laurel thought, needed some romance in her life.

      Don’t we all?

      “They’re not exactly located on the same block,” she pointed out. “It takes time to go from one property to another. Time to look around. Time to call the owners and let them know someone was coming.” She wasn’t saying anything that Jeannie didn’t know, she thought. The other woman had been at the game the same amount of time she had.

      Jeannie looked disappointed. After a beat, she shrugged away the potential vicarious experience, making the best of it. “So, did you make any headway?”

      She and Robert had driven from one house to another, each a little more elegant, a little more expensive than the last. He’d found something wrong with each one of them, apologizing even as he turned them down as potential candidates to be considered.

      It got to the point that she doubted his sincerity.

      Her back ached, her feet ached and her mouth ached—from smiling. And talking. Robert had asked a great many questions about each house they viewed. “He said he hasn’t found the one he’s looking for.”

      A glimmer of a knowing look reentered Jeannie’s eyes as she looked at her. “Maybe he wasn’t talking about the houses.”

      Okay, enough was enough. Admittedly flattering though the attention might have been, there was reality to consider. Laurel lowered her voice even more, until her words came out in a low growl. “Jeannie, I’m pregnant, remember?”

      “They say that pregnant women are desirable.”

      “No, pregnant women want to be desirable,” Laurel contradicted. God knows she had in her last three pregnancies. This time, the need was almost immediate. But that was because Jason had kept returning to the fact that she was “old.” “And who exactly are ‘they’?”

      Jeannie spread her hands. “They. Them. The ones in the know.”

      Laurel shook her head. “The ones who pretend to know.”

      A touch of pity entered Jeannie’s expressive eyes. “Boy, pending motherhood has made you cynical.”

      Laurel glanced around to see if anyone else in the office was listening to this exchange. But everyone seemed to be caught up in their own worlds. She was safe to try to make her point.

      “I’m not pending, Jeannie, I am a mother, remember?” she said with as much feeling as a whisper could sustain. “And please, don’t say anything to anyone.” She glanced at the woman whose desk was closer than the others. “I’d really rather Sally Houseman didn’t find out before my sons did.”

      Jeannie nodded, as if that was already understood. “I take it you didn’t tell Mr. Hunk about the little bun in the oven, either.”

      “Manning, his name is Manning, not Hunk and my condition has nothing to do with the sale of a house,” Laurel fairly hissed. Just then, the phone on her desk began to ring. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to take that.”

      Jeannie reluctantly rose to her feet as Laurel reached for the receiver.

      “Laurel Mitchell,” Laurel said as she placed the receiver to her ear.

      “I think I’d rather think of you as Laurel Taylor,” the whimsical voice on the other end of the line told her.

      Stunned, it took Laurel a second to find her voice. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jeannie watching her with interest as she retreated to her own desk.

      What was he doing, calling her? She’d left Robert in the parking lot not more than two minutes ago. At the time, she’d assumed he was going to go home. Or rather, to his parents’ house, where he was staying until he found something of his own.

      “Did you forget something?” she asked him.

      “Yes. I forgot to ask you if you’d like to go out for a drink later after you finish. Maybe do a little catching up.”

      They’d covered some ground while she drove him from property to property. Obviously not enough ground in his opinion. Or was there something else on his mind?

      Warmth began to creep up her neck again.

      Pregnant and hot flashes. Terrific.

      “Laurel, are you there?” she heard Robert ask when she didn’t answer.

      She

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