LITMIR.BIZ

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snatched it up and looked at the screen. “I need to take this.” And he did. Right then and there. “Maureen...Yes...They do?...Yes!” He flashed Lucy a thumbs-up. She had no idea why. “Tomorrow? Impossible....” He scowled. She could hear the person named Maureen talking fast. And Brandon started nodding. “Yeah, I do. I know...You’re right, okay, tomorrow.” There was more. He kept on agreeing with the person named Maureen and said that yes, he would, absolutely. He was on it. Lucy finished her excellent pie and sipped her coffee.

      When he finally hung up, she guessed, “Big news?”

      “Oh, yeah. That was my agent. That sitcom I told you about? They want me. They really want me. I’m flying out to L.A. tonight. It’s big, Lucy. It’s huge—and listen, I’ve got to get moving....”

      “Absolutely.” She wished him good luck in theater speak. “Break a leg.”

      He was already on his feet. “Thanks, Lucy.”

      “Break them both.”

      He chuckled. Then he bent close and kissed her on the cheek. “We’ll talk...soon.”

      “’Bye, Brandon.”

      He straightened, turned and headed for the door.

      Lucy watched him go. He hadn’t touched his pie.

      The waitress, Tabitha, who was the owner’s daughter and around Lucy’s age, appeared beside the booth, coffeepot in hand. She refilled Lucy’s cup. “Not your type, huh?”

      Lucy reached across the table and snagged Brandon’s abandoned pie. “Was I that obvious?”

      “Not to him, apparently—and look. He left you something.” She waved the check.

      Laughing, Lucy took it. “Not a problem. After all, I get to eat his pie.”

      * * *

      It snowed the next day, Thursday. Not a lot. But enough that Lucy could look out her bedroom windows and see it drifting down onto the sidewalk outside, a frail bit of it collecting in the dip of the brown awning over the door of the Italian restaurant across the street. She wished Dami was there to see it with her.

      And then she felt gloomy. Because he wasn’t there, because it was only a little snow and she still wanted to share it with him.

      She couldn’t stop thinking about him. And she tried to excuse that by telling herself it was natural to miss him after all that had happened between them. It wasn’t that bad to have maybe fallen for him just a little bit—not too much, oh, no. Only a thoroughly appropriate amount given that he’d seen her naked more than once and she’d done things with him she’d never done in her life before.

      Good things. Wonderful things. Things she couldn’t let herself think too much about or she’d only get gloomier.

      Keeping busy. That was the key. No way was she going to end up sitting in a chair staring out the window, thinking of Thanksgiving and wanting to cry.

      As soon as the snow stopped, she went out and prowled her favorite fabric and notions stores, snatching up things that inspired her. She intended to work for several hours every day on clothing and accessory designs and on making a few of the ideas she came up with.

      Lots of work should keep her from longing for Dami.

      And, hey, it was Christmastime. There were so many organizations looking for volunteers.

      On Friday morning she looked around online and chose two worthy causes. She called and signed up to wrap presents for disadvantaged kids and to put in five four-hour sessions making costumes for a children’s theater organization called Make-Believe and Magic. She worked for a while sketching a few new accessory designs and then she went down the street to the Paradise for a late breakfast.

      By then the regular breakfast crowd had cleared out and the diner was quiet for that hour or two before they all started piling in for lunch.

      Tabby gave her coffee, took her order, stuck it on the rack in the pass-through for Nestor and then slid into the seat across from her. “Wow, Lucy. You always look so great.”

      “Thanks.” Lucy fluffed the cowl neck of the white sweater she wore under her cutaway purple jacket. “Clothes are my undying passion, it’s true.”

      “Didn’t you say once that you make everything you wear?”

      “Most of them, I do.” She picked up her coffee cup. Tabby was looking at her kind of strangely. “Okay.” She sipped. “Something’s on your mind. What?”

      “God. I don’t even know how to ask you....”

      “Oh, come on. I’m totally harmless. Ask me.”

      Tabby puffed out her cheeks with a hard breath. “There’s this guy. I’ve had my eye on him. He finally asked me out for Saturday, a week from tomorrow night. It’s a cocktail-dress thing—and I mean, I know it’s really short notice, but then I was thinking how you have such amazing taste and all and maybe you could give me a few tips on what to buy, that you could—”

      “You want me to make something for you? I could so do that.”

      Tabby blinked. “Just like that. You would—you could?”

      “Yeah. It would be fun.”

      “I would pay you. I mean, not a lot, but—”

      Lucy waved a hand. “Not a problem. I’m just getting started in my career, anyway. I need cool projects.”

      “But I would pay you.”

      “Sure. Of course. We can work that out.”

      “But...I mean, something for me, right? For my body and coloring? Your style is killer, but it’s not me.” Tabby had streaky blond hair and amazing cheekbones. She stood five-eleven or so and rocked one of those real-woman bodies with serious curves.

      “Oh, yeah. For you, only you. I’m thinking something that flows and clings and shows off a little of that gorgeous olive skin.”

      Tabitha asked in a breathless tone, “Can it be red?”

      “Oh, yes, it can.”

      All at once Tabby looked like a kid having the best Christmas ever. “Lucy, I’m liking this. I seriously am....”

      * * *

      Tabby came right over to Lucy’s after her shift was through.

      Lucy ushered her into the bedroom, which was big enough that she not only had her bed and dresser in there but she’d also set up a cutting table, her two sewing machines and a couple of dress forms. Lucy took Tabby’s measurements and they discussed fabric and detail. Lucy was thinking the red dress should be chiffon, with a flowing short skirt, a ruched strapless bodice and a sweetheart neckline. And there should be bling—maybe crystal beading or rhinestones to accent the bodice. She did some quick sketches and Tabby was sold. She wrote a check right then and there for the amount Lucy quoted her.

      Then they started talking. Tabby talked about the guy who’d asked her out for Saturday night. His name was Henry O’Mara and he owned a shoe-repair shop in Chelsea. She said her parents were driving her crazy. She’d been engaged to a nice Greek man, but she’d called it off and they couldn’t understand what could be the matter with her. Lucy shared her issues with Noah and her adoration of Alice. She even talked about Dami a little.

      Tabby said, “Leave it to you to find yourself a prince.”

      And Lucy said the usual, “It’s not like that. We’re just friends.”

      At which Tabby made a snorting sound. “Yeah. Right. Like I believe that.”

      They ended up going across the street to the Italian place, where they each ordered the sausage ravioli. When they got back to Lucy’s, Viviana Nichols opened her door. She had a plate of cookies fresh from the oven and she grinned at them, the

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