email had made the rounds. So Libby memorized a carefully crafted response, specific enough to be honest but ambiguous enough to avoid discussing the mishap concerning her old boss if at all possible. But then the inevitable moment came.
Why did you leave your last job?
Her mind went shockingly, brilliantly blank. All her years as an event planner had given her catlike reflexes. There she was, a problem-solving, out-of-the-box-thinking, fire-dousing ninja. But she just sat there, dazed as if waiting for a Magic 8 Ball to answer for her.
A LL SIGNS POINT TO NO.
What the hell? Libby Hamilton had lost her mojo.
She fumbled her way through the rest of the interview, babbling something innocuous about professional growth and her quest for a challenging career, but afterward she wasn’t even certain what she’d said.
She’d had dinner in Chicago that night with work friends who caught her up on the latest office gossip, but it just made her feel worse. She wasn’t in that loop anymore. All her knowledge and skills were evaporating like the polar ice caps. Seth was in San Diego for his own job, so she hadn’t even bothered stopping by her old apartment. She just drove back to Monroe, feeling useless and wondering if he’d call as promised.
He didn’t. He’d sent a text instead that said
M ISS U. W ILL CALL TOMORROW.
Nothing was the way it had been. And nothing was the way it was supposed to be.
Libby heard the click of a camera and turned to see Marti pointing a sizable lens in her direction.
“Why did you do that?”
Marti smiled. “Dante and I are going to make a documentary of the building renovation. I told him I’d get some still shots today
since
Daddy
won’t let him on the property
.” She said the last bit extra loud and glared at their father.
“Don’t start with me, young lady.” He waved a finger in Marti’s direction.
Marti shrugged and snapped another picture. “Stand up on the porch, you guys. Let me get a couple of shots of you up there.”
Her father hesitated, but for only a moment. Libby sensed his internal struggle. He wanted to stay mad at Marti, but none of them ever could, and besides that, she knew he was grudgingly thrilled at the prospect of filming this adventure.
They climbed the few steps, and her dad leaned against a sagging railing.
“That’s not going to hold you,” Libby warned, as the wood creaked under his weight.
“Yes it will.” He bounced against it, and the wood splintered in defeat. “Well, shit,” he muttered.
Libby’s laugh was cut short by the loud rumble of an aging truck turning into the drive. Tom Murphy had arrived, in a faded blue pickup. A flutter of residual embarrassment tickled low in Libby’s body. Maybe he’d forgotten their inauspicious first meeting. Because most guys wouldn’t think twice about seeing a woman with her pants down, right?
She swallowed the dull pain in her throat as Tom parked next to her father’s sedan and climbed down from the cab. He gave them all a quick nod before leaning in to pull some long, rolled blueprints and a manila folder from inside.
“Good morning!” Libby’s father hopped back off the porch and greeted Tom brightly.
“Good morning, Mr. Hamilton,” Tom replied.
“Please, call me Peter. And you remember my daughter Liberty.”
Tom nodded, one corner of his mouth lifted in a lazy half-smile, and he gave her a look that said he very much remembered seeing her with her pants down.
Libby straightened her shoulders and felt heat stealing over her cheeks.
Her father gestured toward Marti. “And this is my youngest daughter, Martha.”
Marti bounded forward, smiling wide. Her auburn hair was plaited into two thick braids. With a dusting of freckles and flip-flop sandals, she looked more high school freshman than college senior.
“Hey, Tom. Nice to meet you.”
“Martha is making a documentary of our progress here. I hope you don’t mind if she takes a few pictures.”
“I don’t mind.
Why did you leave your last job?
Her mind went shockingly, brilliantly blank. All her years as an event planner had given her catlike reflexes. There she was, a problem-solving, out-of-the-box-thinking, fire-dousing ninja. But she just sat there, dazed as if waiting for a Magic 8 Ball to answer for her.
A LL SIGNS POINT TO NO.
What the hell? Libby Hamilton had lost her mojo.
She fumbled her way through the rest of the interview, babbling something innocuous about professional growth and her quest for a challenging career, but afterward she wasn’t even certain what she’d said.
She’d had dinner in Chicago that night with work friends who caught her up on the latest office gossip, but it just made her feel worse. She wasn’t in that loop anymore. All her knowledge and skills were evaporating like the polar ice caps. Seth was in San Diego for his own job, so she hadn’t even bothered stopping by her old apartment. She just drove back to Monroe, feeling useless and wondering if he’d call as promised.
He didn’t. He’d sent a text instead that said
M ISS U. W ILL CALL TOMORROW.
Nothing was the way it had been. And nothing was the way it was supposed to be.
Libby heard the click of a camera and turned to see Marti pointing a sizable lens in her direction.
“Why did you do that?”
Marti smiled. “Dante and I are going to make a documentary of the building renovation. I told him I’d get some still shots today
since
Daddy
won’t let him on the property
.” She said the last bit extra loud and glared at their father.
“Don’t start with me, young lady.” He waved a finger in Marti’s direction.
Marti shrugged and snapped another picture. “Stand up on the porch, you guys. Let me get a couple of shots of you up there.”
Her father hesitated, but for only a moment. Libby sensed his internal struggle. He wanted to stay mad at Marti, but none of them ever could, and besides that, she knew he was grudgingly thrilled at the prospect of filming this adventure.
They climbed the few steps, and her dad leaned against a sagging railing.
“That’s not going to hold you,” Libby warned, as the wood creaked under his weight.
“Yes it will.” He bounced against it, and the wood splintered in defeat. “Well, shit,” he muttered.
Libby’s laugh was cut short by the loud rumble of an aging truck turning into the drive. Tom Murphy had arrived, in a faded blue pickup. A flutter of residual embarrassment tickled low in Libby’s body. Maybe he’d forgotten their inauspicious first meeting. Because most guys wouldn’t think twice about seeing a woman with her pants down, right?
She swallowed the dull pain in her throat as Tom parked next to her father’s sedan and climbed down from the cab. He gave them all a quick nod before leaning in to pull some long, rolled blueprints and a manila folder from inside.
“Good morning!” Libby’s father hopped back off the porch and greeted Tom brightly.
“Good morning, Mr. Hamilton,” Tom replied.
“Please, call me Peter. And you remember my daughter Liberty.”
Tom nodded, one corner of his mouth lifted in a lazy half-smile, and he gave her a look that said he very much remembered seeing her with her pants down.
Libby straightened her shoulders and felt heat stealing over her cheeks.
Her father gestured toward Marti. “And this is my youngest daughter, Martha.”
Marti bounded forward, smiling wide. Her auburn hair was plaited into two thick braids. With a dusting of freckles and flip-flop sandals, she looked more high school freshman than college senior.
“Hey, Tom. Nice to meet you.”
“Martha is making a documentary of our progress here. I hope you don’t mind if she takes a few pictures.”
“I don’t mind.
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