Fast & Loose by Elizabeth Bevarly (the giving tree read aloud .txt) 📕

you want to find a guy with money,” he said. “You don’t want to tie yourself to some rich guy because you want an easy life and want to be taken care of. It’s because you want someone to take care of your mom.”

She folded her arms on the roof of the car and rested her forehead on them. “Don’t make me sound so noble,” she said. “Ask anyone. I’ve been saying since I was a little kid that I was going to grow up and marry a rich husband and do nothing but play tennis and eat bonbons and drape myself in jewelry.”

“Yeah, well, a lot of kids say they’re going to grow up to be something frivolous, Bree. I used to tell everybody I was going to play for the Celtics when I grew up. I’d make millions of dollars a year playing ball, make even more millions hawking aftershave and foot powder, drive a big Cadillac, and date a different Hollywood starlet every month.”

She lifted her head to look at him, then smiled. A real smile, too, not one of those brave ones she’d given to her mom. “So what happened?” she asked. “How come you’re not living the high life in Boston and sporting Lindsay Lohan on one arm?”

He smiled back. “Well, I’d like to say it was because I grew into a mature adult who realized he could contribute so much more to the world doing medical research or social work or volunteerism.” He shrugged. “Fact is, I blew an ACL my junior year in high school—for the second time—and that shot any chance I had for a scholarship, never mind the NBA.”

She studied him intently in silence for a moment, as if she were analyzing him from the outside in. But all she said was, “Bummer.”

He nodded. “Yeah. But you know what, Bree? I’ve done okay with what I have. I’ve managed. I’m happy. Maybe it’s a different kind of happy than Lindsay Lohan–happy, but I don’t feel like I’ve missed out on anything.” He toggled his head a little. “Well, maybe one thing. But I’m workin’ on that. And even if she doesn’t come around, it still feels good to be around her.”

She sighed at that, but said nothing for a moment. When she finally did speak again, it was to tell him, “You really are a good guy, Rufus.”

For some reason, it didn’t bother him to hear her say that as much as it used to. “Thanks, Bree.” He hesitated for a moment, then said, “So how about you come over to my place one night this week, and I cook you dinner?”

She started shaking her head before he even finished asking the question. “Rufus, I—”

“It’s just dinner, Bree,” he said. “Dinner between two friends. You look like you could use a night off.”

He thought she was going to decline, and if she did, he wouldn’t push it. He prepared himself to hear no, and he told himself he was okay with it. And he was. He loved Bree Calhoun. He would always love Bree Calhoun. And even if she never felt the same way toward him, loving her the way he did was enough to keep him happy.

“Okay,” she said, surprising him. “Dinner between two friends. I’ll bring dessert.”

He hoped his grin didn’t make him look as goofy as he felt. “That’s a deal.”

Fourteen

LULU OVERSLEPT MONDAY MORNING, SOMETHING that made her have to scramble to get to work on time. Not that she had to punch a time clock—it was one of the perks of a job where one was self-employed—but she had a lot to do that day, and she’d wanted to get to her studio by eight at the latest to ensure she had time to complete it all. The Mell-wood Arts and Entertainment Center, where she sold her glass in one of the shops, was taking advantage of all the tourism the week before Derby and hosting a huge art exhibit and sale that was opening Wednesday. Lulu wanted to have as many pieces to show as she could, and a couple weren’t finished yet. And since Bree was still blissfully asleep and doubtless would be ’til noon—one of the perks of her job—Lulu had to scramble in silence so as not to wake her friend up.

As a result, she was a bit frazzled when she dashed down the stairs juggling a travel mug of coffee in one hand and her oversize, overfull backpack in the other. That frazzlement only compounded when she blasted out of the side of the big brick building and into the morning sunlight and saw Cole Early leaning against a car parked at the curb.

At first, she thought maybe she was dreaming, that the whole running-late-for-work thing was just an annoying by-product of her restless sleep—the band at Deke’s last night had been an electronic funk ensemble called Venus Rising that had made her dream she signed up for a computer dating service, not realizing that it specialized in men who needed redheads to sustain intelligent life on the planet X12. She’d hoped maybe Cole’s appearance was an extension of that—not that she necessarily thought he was from the planet X12 or anything—and that the alarm would go off any minute at the time it was supposed to have gone off, and she’d have plenty of time to get ready for work.

Then she realized that no, she was indeed wide awake and running late, and that was indeed Cole Early, and he did indeed look much fresher and more dapper in his slate blue suit and slater blue shirt and slatest blue necktie than she did in her usual work clothes of white tank top and denim overalls and heavy work boots—glassmaking was a hot, messy activity—her hair caught loosely atop her head to keep it out of her way while she toiled in her hot, messy studio.

“Good morning,”