The Girls Of Mischief Bay

“Thanks. I try. Now, tell me about your kids,” she urged.

He smiled. “They’re great. Char—Charlotte—is going to be nine in a couple of months. Sometimes I swear she’s pushing thirty instead. She’s bossy and she would draw blood to protect her little brother. She loves anything princess-­related and can’t wait to start wearing makeup. She’s beautiful and I’m terrified to think about her starting to like boys.”

He paused. “Oliver is my little man. He’s all boy. He likes trucks, building things and breaking things. He’s six. He’ll be seven this summer.”

She could hear the love and pride in his voice, which was very appealing. She’d dated plenty of guys who didn’t seem that interested in the families they’d already created. “Do you like having them half the time?”

“I’d rather have them all the time, but I accept the compromise.”

“Are you and your ex friendly?”

“We get along. I regret that my marriage failed, but I don’t miss our relationship, if that makes sense.”

“It does. I like that you don’t call her names.”

“Why would I? I married her and chose to have children with her. Calling her names means I’m the moron.”

Their server appeared to remove their plates. Conversation flowed easily throughout the rest of the meal. It was after ten when she and Adam left the restaurant. He handed her ticket to the valet, then pulled her to the side of the waiting area.

“I had a great time tonight,” he told her.

“Me, too.”

“Next time maybe you’ll let me pick you up. You know, like a real date.”

She smiled. “Next time I will.” She leaned in and lightly kissed him. His mouth was firm and warm. She drew back. “You have the kids this week, right? So we’ll keep in touch by text?”

He looked startled. “You’re okay with that?”

“Sure. It’s way too soon for them to know about me.”

“Thanks for understanding. Or to repeat myself…wow.”

She laughed.

He put his arm on her waist and drew her against him. “About that sleeping together thing.”

“Not a chance.”

“You’re amazing.”

“You are the only man I know who would say that after being told he isn’t getting laid.”

“I’m special.”

“You are.”

She had more to say but he kissed her and suddenly talking seemed highly overrated. His mouth lingered. Had they been anywhere else, she would have wanted a little more. But they were outside at a valet stand, waiting for their cars. This wasn’t the time to get into tongue.

She heard a car engine and stepped back. “That’s me,” she said, pointing at her convertible. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Promise.”

Shannon got in her car and drove away. As she headed for home, she thought about the tingles and the quivers. How just being with Adam made her feel good. This was so much better than the post sex-with-Quinn drive of shame. Something she had to remember.

* * *

Pam typed quickly on the laptop in Nicole’s small office, while Nicole sat in the chair beside the desk and waited for the news.

When she’d first bought Mischief in Motion, she’d only been able to afford basic remodeling and had put every penny into the studio itself. Her small down payment had been supplemented by money from a business angel network called Moving Women Forward. They’d given her advice along with start-up funds.

With no money left over for something as frivolous as an office, she’d made do with what she had. Her six-by-eight work space was little more than a human cubby, with a desk, two chairs and an overly bright light fixture.

Not that it mattered much to her. She was in her office as little as possible. Technology allowed all her clients to sign up for classes online. Once they created an account, they could purchase sessions individually or in packages. She received a report every day, the money was automatically deposited in her account and, best of all, she didn’t have to pay for a receptionist. That savings meant that she’d been able to hire a couple of part-time instructors and cut her work hours down to sixty instead of eighty.

About a year ago, she’d been struggling with her accounting software. She’d casually mentioned it and Pam had offered to help. Now her friend spent about an hour every couple of weeks going over the books and making sure Nicole stayed on top of things like taxes and the mortgage. Because she hadn’t just bought the business, she’d also bought the building. An expense that sometimes had her lying awake at night, wondering if she was ever going to feel that they were financially stable.

“You’re in great shape,” Pam said as she looked up. “And I’m not just talking about your ass.”

Nicole smiled. “You’re sure?”

“Yes. I haven’t had to correct any entries for at least a couple of months. With the automatic payment reminders in place, you’re able to hold on to your money as long as possible and still get the bills paid on time. You, my dear, are turning into a tycoon.”

“I think tycoons take home more than what I do.”

“It’s all a matter of perspective.”

Nicole wished she had her friend’s confidence in herself. Pam had worked in her husband’s company for years so all this came easily to her. She’d also most likely paid attention in school. Nicole had grown up with the idea that an education was for other people and that she needed to focus on her art. All fine and good until the moment when art ended and the real world began.

Pam tilted her head. “Are you all right? You really are doing well. You’re putting aside money for taxes and into savings every month. The monthly costs are fairly stable and the business is growing. So why aren’t you smiling?”

“I’m smiling on the inside.” Nicole shifted in her chair. “I’m sorry. I really appreciate the help and you’re right. The news is great. I’m just tired.”

Pam nodded, but didn’t speak. She was good at that, Nicole thought. Knowing when to ask and when to keep quiet. Was it a mom thing? Would she develop the skill as Tyler got older?

The silence stretched on a few seconds more. Nicole gave in to the inevitable and sighed.

“Eric and I aren’t seeing much of each other these days,” she admitted. “I’m always heading to work and when I get home, he’s going out to his critique group or his screenwriting class. It’s hard.”

What she didn’t mention was that her husband was getting home later and later, often smelling of beer. She understood that a few people in class wanted to go out afterward, but Eric had a family to come home to. She didn’t understand what was happening to him. To them. And the unknown scared her.

“I know it’s hard,” Pam told her, her tone caring and warm. “I don’t know how you haven’t killed him. I swear to you, if John came home and told me he was quitting his job to write a screenplay, I’d back the car over him.”

“John would never do that. He’s a responsible guy. Predictable.”

Pam body tensed a little, then relaxed. “You’re right. And most of the time, that’s a good thing.”

“When isn’t it a good thing?”