“I don’t know,” the woman hu ed. “The way you said it, clutching your throat like that, I assumed you must be allergic to something in the food.”
“I meant I didn’t like my dinner.” Suspicion tugged the corners of Laurie’s lips downward. “And you are way too eager to stab me. Are you a sociopath?”
“I’m not the type to let a beautiful woman die.” She crossed her arms and gave Laurie a level look.
“And yet, you didn’t deny being a sociopath,” Laurie pointed out in her usual deadpan way, but her head was a jumble. Did she call me beautiful? Surely, she didn’t mean anything by it. Even so, the compliment left Laurie completely out of sorts. Could I really be ready to go back to work and into the dating scene all in one day? The thought was both terrifying and exhilarating.
“How can I prove to you I’m not a sociopath?” The woman’s face brightened with a hundred-watt smile as she nudged her plate toward Laurie. “I know; I’ll share my nachos with you.”
Despite her rumbling stomach demanding otherwise, Laurie shook her head as if by rote. “There’s a day’s worth of fat in every bite.”
The woman looked at her thoughtfully. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but a few extra pounds might be good for you.”
“You know what they say. You can never be too rich or too thin.” Laurie tried to laugh the whole thing o , but the sound her throat produced wasn’t all that convincing, even to her own ears. She was keenly aware of the way her clothing hung too loosely around her frame. She needed to make some positive changes in her life before her health started to su er even more than it probably already had.
“Please, have a bite.” The woman waved to the nachos.
“You seem very invested in getting me to do this,” Laurie said, her resolve flagging. The smell was so damn enticing, like all seven deadly sins rolled into one heaping plate and topped with guacamole.
“I’ll be insulted if you don’t.”
“I wouldn’t want to o end you.” Laurie selected an extra cheesy chip. Might as well, right?
The woman leaned forward, eager for the verdict. It was a movement that pressed her breasts together in a way that produced way more cleavage than Laurie would’ve thought possible on such a slender person.
“Oh, God.” It was a groan of utter satisfaction, but given that it had come while Laurie was staring down the stranger’s shirt, she immediately sti ened and added, “That salsa is particularly good.”
The stranger’s cheeks had turned all sorts of interesting shades of pink. Hell, even Laurie wasn’t completely buying her own salsa cover story. Interestingly, the woman made no attempt to adjust her dangerously low neckline.
“Definitely. Nice and hot.” The brunette licked her lips and stared at Laurie with an intensity that she hadn’t had directed her way from another human in a very long time. Oh my God, I think she’s actually coming on to me. Laurie’s heart pounded faster. How had this happened? She had to be imagining it, right? But what if she wasn’t?
Old enough to be her mother, Laurie’s inner voice chanted.
Mother, mother, mother… “Tell me about your mother.”
“My mother?” The woman’s brows pulled together in a look of utter confusion that Laurie had to admit was absolutely warranted, considering she’d gone from awkwardly flirty to doing her best impression of a Freudian psychotherapist welcoming a new patient to her couch in the span of two point five nanoseconds.
Time to double down, damn it. Act natural. Laurie cleared her throat and continued in her calmest, most dispassionate tone. “Yes, your mother.”
“My mother is a,” she paused as if searching for the right word, “unique woman.”
She couldn’t be sure, but Laurie got the impression the woman didn’t appreciate whatever it was about her mother that could only be described in this way. Funny how that one word, unique, could mean so many things, from she has a shelf full of novelty salt and pepper shakers to she has a collection of bodies buried in the cellar. Laurie wondered which was closer to the truth. “You said she’s in Ireland?”
“Dingle.”
Ouch. Laurie flinched. She doesn’t pull any punches with the insults. “Pardon?”
Instead of apologizing for her rude name-calling, the woman burst into laughter. “That’s where my mother is. It’s a place in County Kerry, on the Atlantic Coast side.” Laurie must’ve looked as confused as she felt because the next thing the woman did was reach out and grab hold of her hand, flipping it palm up and pointing to a spot on her lower wrist. “If your hand is Ireland, Dingle would be right about here.”
“I… see.” Immediately, the woman dropped her hand and looked sheepishly at the table, apparently mistaking Laurie’s measured response for disapproval at having grabbed her hand. In truth, those were the only two words she could manage as every nerve ending between her fingers and her shoulder had lit up like sparklers in a Fourth of July parade the second their skin had touched. Laurie attempted to smooth over the sudden tension. “Do you like Ireland?”
“I do.” The woman’s lips curved upward, if more warily than Laurie would’ve liked. “You know how everyone says the Irish are friendly, it really is true. Even when I go to the post o ce, the sta cracks jokes and makes me feel welcome. That’s never happened to me in the States.”
“Sounds magical.”
“There’s a special quaintness to the place. And, the people love to tell stories. Walk into any pub, and there’ll be some old dude ready to tell you about his uncle Dermot getting sloshed and waking up in a barn, cuddled up to a stranger’s cow. Including my uncle Dermot.”
“A lot of cows in Dingle?”
“More like a lot of gin. They’re famous for it. The distillery itself isn’t much to look at from the outside, merely a big blue shed, but inside are these huge copper pots that are truly impressive, plus the chance to taste a sample makes it worth the visit.” The woman’s eyes scanned the space
behind the bar, and she held up her hand to get the bartender’s attention. “Hey, Mack, got some Dingle?”
“Oh, I’ve got dingle.” The bartender gave his eyebrows a comic waggle and made an exaggerated gesture of cupping his crotch. “My wife’s never complained; that’s for sure.”
“Ha.” Laurie’s companion rolled her eyes, shaking her head at the man’s juvenile behavior. “And men wonder why I don’t want anything to do with them.”
“Oh… no?” Laurie swallowed hard, fidgeting with her bracelet as she sometimes did when nervous. She’d guessed as much, but that was really putting it out in the open in a way that couldn’t be brushed aside or ignored.
“I sort of got the impression from this”—she tapped Laurie’s bracelet with her index finger, all the while fixing her with a steady gaze that set a fire in Laurie’s belly—“that we might have that in common.”
Tearing her eyes away, Laurie glanced down at her wrist, only then remembering which bracelet she’d put on that morning. It had been a gift from Bonnie, no more than a trinket picked up in a shop in P-town the final summer they’d managed to make it out to their house on the Cape. Its value was purely sentimental, and Laurie recalled slipping it on for good luck. As it happened, the two linked circles with plus signs, symbolic of two women, was also a dead giveaway that Laurie was gay.
“Here’s the Dingle.” Before Laurie had a chance to respond, Mack set two bottles on the bar, one filled with clear liquid, the other more of a honey color. “I wasn’t sure if you meant the gin or the whiskey, so I brought both.”
“Gin, naturally,” the woman answered, turning toward Laurie with a goofy, lopsided grin. “Looks like we’ve got a long night ahead of us.”
Laurie was at a loss for a response, too distracted by the sudden physical longing brought on by a crooked smile of all
things. She was saved from utter embarrassment by the buzzing of her phone. The message on the screen made her breath catch in her throat. “Oh no.”
“More of a whiskey girl?” The stranger tilted
her head to one side as if considering this development. “I have to warn you the gin is far superior.”
Ignoring the comment, Laurie whipped her head around to look out the window. Somehow, between how dark it was outside and the good company she’d found in the bar, it had escaped Laurie’s notice that a steady deluge of snowflakes had begun outside, as the forecast had predicted. “Oh, no, no, no.”
Her companion frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“Snow.”
“Not you, too.” The woman blew a raspberry. “It amazes me how Bostonians can get their panties in a twist for a few flakes of the white stu .”
“It’s more than a few flakes.” Laurie cupped the brunette’s chin, turning her head to look out the window.
Snow was coming down so heavily that it was impossible to see more than a few inches beyond the glass.
The woman gasped. “When did that happen?”
“My guess would be between the first and third pints.”
Laurie counted the glasses again, befuddled. “Wait, I don’t even remember ordering the third.”
The woman shrugged sheepishly. “My bad.”
“I need to get home.” Laurie dialed the number for Emerson Management’s private car service, but the call went directly to voice mail with a message that said they were closed for the storm. “Damn.”
“What’s wrong?”
“My driver isn’t answering. This storm may be worse than I thought.”
“Mack, can you turn on the telly?” her companion asked in a voice barely above a whisper.
Laurie’s shoulders sagged when she saw the red bulletin at the bottom of the screen. “All public transportation has been suspended?”
“You were going to take public transportation?” The brunette looked genuinely shocked, even more so than she’d been at the whiteout conditions outside.
“I’ve taken the subway before,” Laurie responded, pressing a hand to her throat as her spine extended itself to its fully upright position. It was true, she had. Once or twice.
A decade ago. “Why would you think I wouldn’t?”
“Other than the fact you placed a call to your personal chau eur?” The woman snorted. “Because you literally look like a debutante trying to clutch your pearls right now, Blair.”
Laurie tilted her head to one side, but not before lowering her hand so as to let go of those nonexistent pearls. “Blair?”
“You know, Blair Warner. Miss Richy-Rich from The Facts of Life.”
Laurie’s mouth flew open at the unflattering—and completely unjust—comparison. “You think I’m a Blair?”
“You’re trying to tell me you’re not?”
“Of course, I’m not.” Laurie folded her arms across her chest. “Blair was arrogant and spoiled.”
Her companion shrugged, giving her an if the shoe fits sort of look. “Fine. Who do you think you are, then?”
“Jo, obviously.” Jo had been her favorite character, but then again, wasn’t she everyone’s? Rebellious. Bad ass.
Looked super sexy in a jean jacket and aviator sunglasses.
Laurie tried unsuccessfully not to pout when her declaration was met by the world’s least ladylike snort-laugh.
“No, you’re not.” The woman didn’t even try to soften the blow to Laurie’s ego.
“Of course, I am!”
“Have you ever looked at yourself in a mirror, Blondie?”
“Blondie?” Laurie perked up. That was a comparison she could live with. “Their lead singer was smokin’ hot.” Did I just use the word smokin’? I think I may be tipsy.
“Who, or what, is a Blondie?”
“How do you not know Blondie? Right. You weren’t born yet.” Laurie’s chest deflated like a popped balloon as she struck her palm against her forehead. Her eyes narrowed.
“What do you even know about The Facts of Life. You weren’t born when that was on the air, either.”
“I binge watched it in college.”
“Which was when, yesterday?”
“Ha, not quite, but recently enough to know you’re not a Jo. I am.”
Laurie sco ed. “Dream on, Tootie.”
“Tootie? You’re… I…”
Laurie laughed heartily as her companion found it impossible to form complete words, let alone string them together into coherent sentences. “Hey, Toots. I still don’t have a way to get home. Got any suggestions?”
“Ever heard of a little company called Uber?”
“Biggest IPO in years.” Laurie bristled at the little whippersnapper’s tone. “Followed by a spectacular downturn.”
“Color me impressed.”
“Stop being such a smug Millennial,” Laurie shot back.
“Okay, Boomer.”
“I beg your pardon? I’m Gen X, thank you very much. We invented the fucking internet.” Laurie’s smugness waned as she realized that to secure services for a ride home, she was going to have to admit that Uber’s ticker symbol was the only thing she knew about the company. Damn it. “I’ve never actually used Uber, though…”
“You need to set up an account and put the app on your phone.” The sarcasm had seeped from the woman’s tone, and she reached for her own phone as she explained, which told Laurie she must look especially clueless. “Never mind. I can request one for you. Where are you heading?”
“Cambridge.”
“I’m going to need the exact address.”
Laurie furrowed her brow. That was getting a little too personal, wasn’t it? Also, her head was swimming in enough beer that she couldn’t quite remember the exact address after being away for so long. It was white and had black shutters. Did that narrow it down enough?
“For the car. I promise. I’m not going to sneak out there in the dead of night and try to steal anything from you or jab you with needles.”
“I didn’t think…” After making a sound that was somewhere between a grunt and a growl, Laurie’s memory narrowed in on the needed information, and she was able to supply the address of her Brattle Street home.
“Holy shit!” At first Laurie thought she was reacting to the posh address, but then the woman flipped her phone around and showed her the screen. “Two hundred and fifty dollars?”
“Is that a lot?” Laurie’s mind raced, trying to recall the cost of the town car that used to pick up Bonnie and her for trips to Logan airport. Honestly, she’d never paid much attention because, well, she didn’t care how much it cost.
Her eyes widened in revelation. Maybe I am Blair.
“You can get a plane ticket to Florida for less than that.
Normally, it’s, like, twenty bucks tops. This is total price gouging.”
“Look, I really need to get home.” Laurie opened her purse and pulled out a wad of bills. “I have four hundred in
cash. If you can get me a car for less than that, keep the rest.”
“Seriously?” It was hard to tell, but there may have been a hint of insult in the woman’s tone, as if she didn’t appreciate being o ered a tip like she was a barista in a co ee shop.
“My driver’s taken the night o , and the trains aren’t running. What else am I going to do?” Laurie didn’t mean for her words to come out like a growl, but her head was buzzing from too many beers, she wanted to be flat in bed immediately, and she was running out of options to make that happen. Damn Toby for deactivating my badge, she thought. Otherwise, she could have slept on the couch in her o ce to wait out the storm.
“Okay. Let’s see how long it’ll take for the app to find you a match.”
A minute passed, but no updates were forthcoming.
Laurie reached her hand out toward the phone. “Let me see that. Does it usually take this long?”
“No, it doesn’t. I don’t think you’re going to be able to find a ride.”
With dismay bordering on panic, Laurie looked at the heavy blobs of snow splattering the bar’s windows. “But, it’s their job.”
“Can you really blame anyone
for wanting to stay inside?” Laurie was about to argue some more, but the woman cut her o . “Tell you what, Blair. Let’s go to my hotel.”
Laurie let out a wicked laugh. “Oh, you’d like that, I’ll bet.”
“What?”
“Like that hasn’t been your goal all evening, getting me to spend the night with you.”
“What do you think I did, conjured a blizzard so I could get lucky?” The woman cocked an eyebrow. “I’m good, but I’m not that good. Besides, I only meant you could come with me to the hotel and see if you could book yourself a room.”
Laurie hesitated, but another gust of wind blasted the window with snow. “I guess that’s an option.”
The woman signaled the bartender, who had wandered away after leaving the gin and two glasses on the bar in front of them sometime during the great debate of The Facts of Life.
“Mack, can we get our bills?”
Mack returned, gesturing toward the gin. “You want one for the road?”
Laurie darted an anxious glance toward the storm. “I don’t know. It’s getting bad out there. I think we’d better go.”“There’s not much left in the bottle,” the woman pointed out to Mack. “How much to take it with us?”
“What if I charge you for two? The only thing is, the credit card machine’s down right now, so I’m afraid it’s cash only.”
“Sold.” The woman flashed the bartender an electrifying grin, which was still glowing strong when she turned her face toward Laurie. “Hey, Blair. Toss some of that cash of yours onto the bar so we can get outta here.”
Well, that was insolent. Laurie glared at her companion, but she would’ve been lying if she’d denied being more than a little turned on, too. “Why don’t you?”
“I’m a smug Millennial, remember? We don’t carry cash.”
Not fully understanding why she was giving in without more of a fight, Laurie did as she was told and deposited a stack of bills on the bar. She didn’t bother to count them, but judging by the expression on Mack’s face, it was more than enough to cover the tab. Her companion was already waiting
by the door, but Laurie couldn’t let her have the last word quite so easily.
“Don’t forget to grab the gin, Dingle.”
Heart of Ice Page 4