“I do have a little girl,” I say, grinning as I picture my little bear. “Abby is the apple of my eye and the love of my life. I’m great friends with Abby’s mom—we get along like thieves. But just because I have a kid doesn’t mean I’m off the market. Au contraire. I’m as single as the day is long.”
Holy hell, I am flirting shamelessly with a woman who was about to walk down the aisle today and tie the knot with another man.
That ought to be the yellow flag to end yellow flags. And yet, I’m just as eager to chat with Katie tonight as I was seven years ago.
Riddle me that.
“You’re single?” The woman in white leans closer, lifts her glass, whispers conspiratorially, “What do you know? So am I. Cheers to that.”
She clinks her shot glass to mine and I tap back.
It feels like a legitimate toast, like we’re both truly pleased to be free.
Hell, considering her fiancé, maybe she is glad to be unhitched.
We both drink some liquid fire, breathe out hard, and put the glasses down at the same time. “To being single in the city,” I say. “And you know what? This is San Francisco. I bet there is someplace in the city where we can get you a hat and a whip.”
She runs her thumb over the empty glass, her smile a bit naughty. “Well, I have no doubt there’s someplace in the city where we could get a whip right now.”
I wiggle by brows. “Would you like a whip, darlin’?”
Her eyes twinkle with mischief. “Oh, there you go again. Dipping into the accent for fun.”
“Seemed the perfect time. You like the reappearance?”
She bobs a shoulder. “Depends on the reason it’s making a reappearance.”
“Ah, seems it sneaks back when I flirt with a gorgeous woman,” I say, putting that out there.
Yup, I am flirting with a jilted bride, and judging from the happiness in her eyes, it seems like exactly what she needs.
Maybe it’s what I need too.
But tonight isn’t about me.
It’s about her.
“So, you are flirting with me?” she asks, like she needs and wants the confirmation.
I smile. “Seems I am.”
She takes a beat, eying me up and down. “Good. Keep it up.”
5
Harlan
“So, you swear this is the place to go?” Katie asks.
“Don’t just take it from me. Take it from Best of San Francisco Blog. They rate it as the top costume shop in the entire city. Let’s get you a costume,” I say, as we turn into Daisy’s Duds.
Judy Garland’s “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” plays softly on the sound system. A statuesque Black drag queen, decked out in a tight, purple-sequin dress with an emerald-green feather boa tossed around her neck, waves to us from behind the counter. “Welcome to Daisy’s Duds. I’m Daisy. Let me know what I can help you with in my palace of costumes,” she says, sweeping out a muscled arm to indicate the plethora of options.
My eyes scan the colorful arrays of finery—glitter and boas, faux fur and leather, spangles and pasties, as well as all sorts of uniforms for cops, doctors, nurses, firemen, and soldiers.
“Daisy, my lovely lady friend here has a hankering for an Indiana Jones hat and a whip. Any chance you can deliver?”
Daisy cracks up, rolling her big brown eyes. “You say that as if I couldn’t. Of course I have every Harrison Ford costume under the sun. I just love that man something fierce.” She sashays through the store, taking us to a rack next to a mirror with dressing room lights flickering over it. Her hand glides over a Princess Leia bikini from her Jabba the Hut days, then a Ron Burgundy maroon suit.
“You really do have everything,” Katie says, wide-eyed as she fingers a Charlie’s Angels get-up.
Daisy clucks her tongue. “What did you take me for? A costumer you can stump? Darling, my job and my pleasure is to have everything your heart desires.”
Katie laughs, and I am so damn glad she’s smiling again and having a good time. “I like your style, Daisy,” she says.
“And I like your dress. Let’s get you a hat to go with that fabulous A-line on your gorgeous body.”
Katie juts out a hip. “Why, thank you very much.”
The drag queen doesn’t question why Katie’s wearing a wedding dress, and I have a hunch the not-a-bride appreciates that.
The owner roams her hand along a shelf, snags a hat, then grabs a whip. “It’s a Saturday night. Who doesn’t need some light bondage?” she says, with a wink then a snap of her wrist. “Giddy-up.”
“Ooh, would we call that light?” Katie asks.
Daisy tuts. “Darling, we’ll discuss heavy bondage another time. This whip is definitely light.” She hands her the coiled leather just as the door slings open, and Daisy excuses herself to help the new customer.