Miss Impractical Pants (8 page)

“Aye lass, that could be, and
it’s
Avery,
if I haven’t already told you a million times. However, in England it’s already the lunch hour.”

Katie rubbed her face and rolled over.

“And they are thrilled you’ll soon be joinin’ them.”

Katie sat straight up in bed.

“
Who’s
pleased that I’ll be joining them?” She rubbed the bottom of her palm against her temple, trying to clear the cobwebs from her mind.

“Me family, of course!
I’ve phoned them and have arranged for you to stay with me sister while you do your internment with me nephew, Lucas.”

“Internship.”

“Oh yes, of course, that’s the word. Well, anyway, Lucas owns a travel company of sorts and has agreed to have you help him with some of the office details.” He paused for a breath, but not
long
enough to allow Katie to respond.

“He’ll soon be gettin’ married and what with all the weddin’ plannin’…’tis goin’ to be a grand affair, I understand. Quite a blueblood he’ll be marryin’.
Tsk-tsk.
Not that there’s anythin’ wrong with marryin’ a fine lady, mind. Just we Yorkshire men tend to have a wild spirit about us…doesn’t suit us to be always caterin’ to society folk. I hope the lad is sure of what he’s doin’. He’s the apple of me eye, he is….” He trailed off nostalgically. Catching himself, he returned his attention to Katie. “As I was sayin’, what with the weddin’ details, he’s happy to have an extra pair of capable hands—of course, that’s only if you want to, pet?”

“Are you kidding? Mr. Scott—Avery,” she corrected, feeling his scowl through the phone, “this is the best news I’ve heard all morning!” She felt she might jump out of her skin with excitement. “Are you sure it’s okay? I mean, I don’t want to impose on your family.”

“Aye lass, don’t you worry on that account. They are dyin’ to have you. In fact, me
sister
Lottie is lookin’ forward to having a bonny lass about.”

“I don’t know what to say! I can hardly believe it! Thank you.”

“No need for thanks. Now, I’ll be lettin’ you get back to your dreams. Can you come round this afternoon to discuss the particulars?”

“Of course, I can. Thank you, Mr. Scott, thank you so much!”

Falling back into the pillows, she conjured drowsy images of the family Mr. Scott never mentioned. She imagined Lottie to be the spitting, feminine image of her brother: short, conservative, neatly curled hair, soft hands, and kind words. She pictured Lucas: probably mid-forties, scrawny, short like the rest of the family, a no-nonsense businessman.

“AAAHHHHHH!
Are you ready to
sweat
?!”

Katie shot up, ready to inflict damage on the effeminate screamer who’d somehow snuck into her bed. Then came the familiar loud
thump
followed by the heavy
tha-dump-da, tha-dump-da, tha-dump-da hoomphs.

Ah crap.
Richard Simmons again.
She dropped face-first into her pillow. At least he wasn’t really in her bed. Afraid her quirky REM cycle would brandish unpleasant Stanley Speedo scenarios into her brain, she forced herself up,
comforter
bound tightly around her, and waddled into the kitchen.

Desperate for a distraction from the sounds upstairs, she reached for her laptop, still sitting open on the table. No sooner had she logged onto the Internet when she heard the familiar
zzzwwwwiiish
of Skype coming to life. The clock at the bottom corner of her screen glowed with a time that no one should ever have to see on weekend
mornings.
Hallelujah for friends on the East Coast,
she cheered silently before pushing the little green phone icon to call Dylan, who appeared to be online.

She saw his image—wrapped in an old flannel robe, hovering over a cup of coffee—before she heard his voice. She loved video calling. “Katie, is everything okay?”

             
“Sure, why wouldn’t it be?”

“Because it’s Sunday morning and you’re up before ten. Of course, judging by that lovely bedspread you’re wearing, you’re not exactly up.”

“Stanley Speedo is off to an early start this morning. Plus, I have some exciting news to tell you.”

Dylan listened, nodding his head, as she told him all about her internship plans and her most recent conversation with Mr. Scott. “Not that I’m not happy for you, but have you thought about how you’re going to afford living in England?”

Of course this would be Dylan’s reaction.
“No, not really,” she admitted. “I have a little bit of savings.”

“Not enough. Plus, you’ll need your savings when you return home. It’ll take some time to get back on your feet.”

“Why do you always have to put a realistic damper on everything?” She laughed, too excited to be discouraged.

He grinned at her impetuosity.

“Fine, I guess it won’t kill me to do some financial planning.”

“Would you like me to help?”

“Yay!
Thanks Dylan, you’re the best.”

“No problem. Call me back once you’ve got your money situation figured out and I’ll come up with a realistic budget for you.”

Katie’s stomach hit the floor at the word.
“Budget?”

Her financial situation, which resembled more of a loose-leaf folder than a portfolio, was not as promising as Katie would have hoped. With the closing of two properties she had under contract, she would be able to support herself in England if, and only if, she adhered to the terms of Dylan’s Great Depression-inspired budget. She groaned, feeling almost ill. Effective immediately, she would have to lease out her darling little condo and move into Jim and Sheila’s vacant home.

***

“You’ll be living with me sister, Charlotte, and her husband, Charles,” Mr. Scott told Katie. “Also, me godson, Andrew, lives with them sometimes, so he’ll be able to help look after you as well.”

“I’m glad I’ll have a big support group, but I don’t need to be looked after.”

Mr. Scott chortled, gave her a condescending pat on the head, and continued to update her on the arrangements. She would be working for his nephew, Lucas Hayden, who was a sole proprietor of a travel business. For a hefty fee, he not only organized people’s vacations, but traveled just ahead of his clients, smoothing the way of any holiday hassles. Though Lucas was based in London, Charlotte, his mother, helped him with the clerical side of the business from her home in Yorkshire. She would be the one taking responsibility for Katie’s internship.

“Mr. Scott, do you think that’s too much…too much Katie-ness for Charlotte…living and working with me? Maybe I should just find my own place.”

“Don’t be daft, and it’s
Avery.
I assure you, me sister—call her Lottie—and you are two screwy peas in a pod. You’ll get on smashingly.”

***

Dusk was just settling in when Katie pulled into her parking space.

“Hallo Katie, pretty lady!” Stanley Speedo called his usual accented greeting as he waved at her from his balcony. Standing in the frigid temperature had shriveled him enough to significantly reduce to the scary bulge in his briefs. Katie didn’t feel the usual urgency to escape his company. Knowing she wouldn’t be his neighbor for much longer, she felt a surge of affection for the jovial, half-naked hairball.

“Hi Stanley!
It looks like I’ll be moving soon. Why don’t you put on a few more layers of clothes and come on down for some hot chocolate?”

Flaunting an adorable smile he couldn’t refuse, she ascended the staircase to her apartment.

“Ow! Crap!” Katie winced as her knuckles collided against the cottage cheese ceiling. An hour before the date, wearing nothing but her skivvies, she leaped along the length of the Evans’ seventies-style basement as if she were a company member of the Russian Ballet. As clumps of sparkly asbestos rained down on her, she slumped to the floor and sucked her scratched knuckles.

Who was she kidding? Her stomach wasn’t getting any flatter and she leaped with the grace of a water buffalo. Between trying to get her internship approved and moving back home, she was lucky she hadn’t had a nervous breakdown; she certainly couldn’t have been bothered to lose a few pre-date pounds. But with Dylan’s promise looming over her, she didn’t want to give everybody any reason to think that when things didn’t work out with Jared, she hadn’t made every effort. She glanced longingly at the haphazard pile of size-six pants she kept tucked away at the top of her closet and accepted they would not be seeing the light of day anytime soon.

Since Jared was already forty minutes late, Katie had plenty of time to contemplate the fact she was twenty-eight and living—worse, dating—out of her childhood home. Another twelve minutes ticked by in which she chanted an impromptu mantra:
Achieving Amazing Plans entails endurance through a temporarily abject existence.
She chanted until she was thoroughly tongue-tied.
After thirty-seven more minutes, she ended a twelve-year leave of absence and seated herself at the living-room piano, declared “Strike one, Jared,” and plunked out a few notes.

Two hours later, she was blinded by the headlights of his Land Rover shining through the living room curtains. She snuck toward the window to spy as he approached the front porch. He was just as beefcakey, and his head was just as shaved and seemingly incapable of growing hair as she remembered. His hands were jammed so far into his jeans pockets he could have been tickling the underside of China. He wore a tattered denim jacket and plain white T-shirt that clung to his muscular chest.
This
was the man for whom she’d leapt until she had rug burns on the bottoms of her feet.

“This is a great car,” she said, eager to break the awkward silence that followed them all the way down the driveway. He grinned and hoisted himself inside. Katie stood staring at the closed passenger door. After a few moments, when Jared made no motion to even reach across and open it from the inside, she yanked herself into the car and mumbled, “Strike two.”

“Sorry, I’m late,” Jared explained once they were on the road. “I got hung up at work and couldn’t call.”

Katie dipped her head to convey understanding. “You’re a cop, right?”

“SWAT.
But I’m going through the interview process with the FBI.”

“Oh!” Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. She had misjudged him by assuming he was only playing a cop to fulfill some schoolboy fantasy. She hadn’t given him credit for having a successful career. “Wow, that’s really great.” She felt a little contrite for underestimating him.

He shone like a proud little schoolboy at her praise. She squirmed in her seat, bothered her opinion could have such a visible effect on him.

During dinner he managed to avoid all the major pitfalls and say all the right things, which had Katie suspecting he’d received some prior instruction from someone. Anna? Christopher? Dylan?

No doubt he was counseled that the way to her heart was a
Lonely Planet
and nineteen hours in coach class because he always maneuvered the conversation toward the subject of travel. He probed until he found her hot spot: Thailand. Then he massaged the subject until he had reeled her in, and they were calculating frequent flyer miles and routing flights to Bangkok.