“I was hoping you’d have more enthusiasm.”
“How’s this for enthusiasm?” She locked her arms around him, her legs around him, her mouth to his.
“Not bad.” He turned them in a circle. “Not bad at all.”
“I haven’t even seen them. I have to see them!” Wiggling down, she all but fell on the plans.
“I can explain,” he began, but she brushed it away.
“Do you think I can’t read blueprints? I practically slept with the ones for Vesta. It’s good, it’s good,” she muttered. “I’m going to want to move this cooler from here to here. It makes more sense for the flow, plus I’ll need a table here, beside the dishwasher.”
He pulled a pencil out of his briefcase. “Mark it.”
She marked it, made a couple small adjustments. “The opening here, that’s good. Easy pass-through from space to space for servers and customers. Sitting at the bar having a drink with a friend. Hey, why don’t we have dinner? Stroll right on over.”
“It’s a big bar.”
She gave a decisive nod. “Needs to make a statement.”
“You need to tell me what you’re looking for there. The wood, the finish, the style, so I can work up a design for you.”
She shifted her gaze over. “Are you building it?”
“I figured on it. Why?”
“I was going to sex you into it.”
“Now that I think about it, I’m pretty busy.”
On a quick laugh, she turned to wrap her arms around him. The hell with head-clearing breaks. “Owen.”
“Maybe not that busy.”
She held tight, squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m not going to let you down.”
“Nobody thinks that. Not for a minute.”
She shook her head, looked up at him. It was more than a building, a business. It was Owen, and that flutter around her heart. “I’m not going to let you down.”
“Okay.”
Nodding, she laid her head on his chest again. Old foundations, she thought, new phases. Who knew what you could build?
“I need to make dough.”
“Who doesn’t?”
With a smile, she tipped up her head. “I need to make pizza dough so I can make the other kind and pay my landlord.”
“While you’re doing that, I’m going to make some calls in the quiet.”
He gave her a last squeeze. “About these.” He gestured to the blueprints. “It’s going to take a while. Making the changes, getting the mechanicals, then the permits. And we’re centered on the other building right now.”
“It doesn’t matter how long it takes.” She thought of him, of them, the lifetime already shared. “It’s how long it lasts.”
Just after opening, Hope dashed in the door.
Avery added pepperoni to a large. “Hey. How’s it going in Hollywood?”
“It’s good. Pretty smooth so far. They’re doing some interviews and videos with the Montgomerys right now. I’ve got ten minutes.”
“Have a seat.” Avery slid the large in the oven.
“I thought I should run over and tell you rather than text. A lot of the crews asked about lunch, so we’ve been hyping Vesta.”
“Your hype’s appreciated. Good thing I made that extra dough.”
“The thing is, a couple of them got the idea to do some video and interviews around and about. Here to start. With you.”
“Me?”
“And maybe some photos.”
“Of
“Sauce works, it’s the job. Hair’s fine. I’ve got nine minutes now. I can do makeup in six. Let’s go.”
“But orders—shit. Chad. Two large in the oven for delivery. Deal with it. Back in five.”
“Six,” Hope corrected.
“Six,” Avery called as she ran for the door.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me this could happen? I wouldn’t have naked face.”
“Six minutes, maybe less. The gods gifted you with gorgeous skin. We’ll just pump up the eyes, give you more color, less shine.”
“I’m shiny!” Desperate, Avery shoved open her apartment door, raced to the bathroom. “I’m wearing an old shirt.”
“The apron covers it.” Focused, Hope yanked open the drawer of the vanity.
“The saucy apron.”
“I’m telling you the sauce is good. It’s like a prop. Sit,” she ordered. “This is simple. It’s not a screen test for a major motion picture. It’s a few seconds on the evening news.”
“Oh God.”
“Quiet. Why can’t you organize your makeup into groups? Eyes, lips, cheeks?”
“Don’t start on me when I’m having a nervous breakdown. Why did I use this color on my hair?”
“Why do you use any color on your hair when you have gorgeous hair to begin with?”
“It was because of the rut. It was the rut, but now it’s like an addiction. Help me.”
“Shut up and close your eyes.”
Hope swiped on shadow, blended, drew on liner, smudged. “Didn’t I tell you to buy an eyelash curler.”
Wary, Avery opened one eye. “I fear them.”
“Get over it. Look here.” She leveled a finger, then brushed on mascara.
“Why do you always look so perfect?” Avery complained. “Why are you beautiful? I hate you.”
“I can give you clown cheeks.”
“Please don’t.”
“You have skin like porcelain. I hate you.” Deft and quick, Hope feathered on blush. “And for God’s sake buy an eyelash curler. And a lip liner. Relax your jaw.” She chose a lipstick from the two dozen jumbled in the drawer, dusted on translucent powder, blotted.
“Done, and in four.”
“My pizzas.”
“Chad’s got them. Take a look.”
Avery rose, studied the results in the mirror over the sink. Her eyes looked bigger, bluer, her cheeks more defined, her lips rosy. “You’re a genius.”
“I am.”
“But my hair.”
“Leave it. Twenty seconds.” Hope tugged here, smoothed there. Nodded. “Unstudied, casual, and just a little sexy.”
“The shirt—”
“Is fine. Different earrings. Thirty seconds.”
Hope made the dash, pulled open the earring drawer. A quick scan, eyes narrowed. “These. A little sparkle, a little dangle, and they’re from Gifts. Symbiotic.”
She did one ear while Avery did the other.
“Shouldn’t I—”
“Done,” Hope declared, and grabbed Avery’s hand. “Switch focus. You want the reporters to mention the excellent food and fast, friendly service in a cheerful atmosphere, right?”
“Right, right. Jesus, stupid. It doesn’t matter how I look. Of course it does, but I need to warn the staff. I
