“And then there is this rack of shirts and skirts off to the side without prices,” Neil was saying.
Crap. She would bet she’d rushed off and left the pile of tags in her apartment.
“A beautiful career-esque woman, who would have probably gotten her promotion today if I sold her the shell tank top and vintage sage print skirt,” he continued with a dramatic sigh, “was inquiring.”
“Tell me you sold it to her,” she pleaded. Why hadn’t she remembered to price that rack? She was always forgetting some mundane, simple yet imperative detail.
“Can I have milk, Kimber?” Lyon asked, crumbs dotting his mouth.
“Chocolate or white?” she asked, moving to the fridge.
“Chocolate!”
Like she needed to ask. She pulled down two glasses with one hand and held the phone to her ear with the other, not repeating the mistake of face-ending the call with Neil.
“Of course I sold it to her,” he said. “It brought out her cheekbones. What I need to know is how you want me to price the rest of these items; if you had something in mind.”
“I did.” But she’d forgotten. Had run off to her new gig and left her store in the hands of Neil; her near-useless ex, Mick; and a twenty-year-old girl who was fresh off the farmland of Indiana. “How is Ginny doing?”
“She keeps calling everything ‘neat,’ ” he said with a laugh. “She’s precious. And flirting with me.”
Kimber nearly choked on the glass of milk she’d poured for herself. “You’re kidding.”
“No. She has no idea I like men.”
“Speaking of, how’s Mick doing?”
Neil grunted. He didn’t like Mick. Had made his distaste for her ex-boyfriend no secret. “Yesterday he spent most of the evening perched on a stool playing the guitar.”
Mick’s talents extended to nearly every area of art. From decoration to design to music to painting. It was one of the things she’d fallen for when they’d been dating. If he’d managed to hone any of those skills into a career, she’d likely still be with him. But he quit everything. Like he’d quit her. And like he wanted to quit Hobo Chic.
“I’ll be back on Monday,” she said.
“We’ll be fine. Hobo Chic is fine. You work your nanny gig for a rich hottie and enjoy it, missy,” Neil teased.
She smiled. He had a way with words. “I get a come-to-Jesus talk, too?”
“No charge.”
Lyon cast her a curious frown. “What’s ‘come to Jesus’ mean?”
Great. With no graceful way to answer that question, she diverted his attention instead. “Use a napkin. You have peanut butter on your face.” He swiped his face with the paper towel she gave him. “Finish your lunch and I’ll give you a brownie.” Once she baked some.
“So this is what you’re doing this week? Bribing a six-year-old kid into doing what you need him to? Stuffing him full of brownies and ultra-violent movies?”
“Don’t judge me. Get a notebook and go to the rack. Describe each piece and we’ll talk pricing. I bet you’re going to know how to price them anyway.”
As they worked, Neil paused to ask her questions she couldn’t answer freely within earshot of Lyon. “I’m thinking forty-nine dollars,” he would say, followed by, “What color are your millionaire’s eyes?” Or, “There’s a tear in the sleeve, toss or repair?” then, “What’s his butt like? Big, small, firm, flat?”
“It’s delicious,” she said without thinking. Lyon had moved to his room a few minutes ago, his bath-towel cape flapping behind him. At least he didn’t have the sword any longer. She cleaned off the kitchen table and loaded his plate and glass into the dishwasher.
“Describe,” Neil said.
She lowered her voice. She didn’t have to—Lyon was roaring in the back of the house, appeased with his own imagination for the moment. Closing the dishwasher door, she leaned a hip against the counter. “He wears these suit pants that sort of… cup each cheek, you know?”
“Oh, I know. Keep talking, honey.”
She grinned. This was fun. She turned around and rested on her elbows, toying with a knife in a block with her free hand. Surely snuggled in a corner at the back of Landon’s massive kitchen, with Lyon several rooms away, she could speak without being overheard. She glanced at the baby monitor on the counter behind her. Lyon had plopped onto the bed to play a handheld game. Yeah. He was in the zone. She was safe.