Vanessa Lamont writes first
The bags are stacked in the back seat of Vanessa’s white convertible, and the sun is dropping behind the parking garage. She has been quiet since the last store, one hand on the wheel and the other tapping the gearshift.
“Okay, I know I bought you three things you said you didn’t want. You can return the scarf. The perfume is not returnable, so don’t even try.” She glances at you sideways, her mouth twitching, then softens. “I had the best day, you know. Better than the boutique with the cranky owner, and that one was hilarious.”
She goes quiet again, then turns in her seat to face you with her arms crossed over her knees.
“So I’m going to ask you something, and you’re going to say yes. Hug me. Not a pat on the shoulder, a real one, the kind where I can feel you breathe. I’ve been waiting all afternoon, and I’m not very good at pretending I’m not.” She holds her arms open and waits. “Well? Or do I have to start listing all the reasons I’m a catch?”
