Petal to the Metal by Annabel Chase

Author:Annabel Chase [Chase, Annabel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Red Palm Press LLC
Published: 2021-01-28T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

“Hard. No.” Patrick stood in the doorway of my kitchen with his arms folded. “You cannot wear that on a date. You cannot wear those clothes I hate. You cannot wear that here or there. You cannot wear that anywhere.”

I glanced at my outfit. “What’s wrong with it, Dr. Seuss?”

“You look like a hooker with a heart of gold.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Maybe in the 90s. We’re past that now.” Patrick angled his head, scrutinizing me. “Dane Fairfax is a cerebral guy. He doesn’t want too much skin.”

I held out my arms to accentuate my three-quarter sleeves. “You think this is too much skin?”

“I can count your age spots.” He paused. “Actually, I can’t count your age spots because there are too many. You look like a dot-to-dot painting.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have time for sugarcoating. This is a sartorial emergency.” He ushered me upstairs to my bedroom to change. “Let me see what I can find.”

“No sweaters. They trigger hot flashes.”

He ducked into the walk-in closet and groaned. “Are you sure you were living in New York City? These clothes scream Suburban White Woman.”

“I like to blend in.”

“Why would you want to do that?” He emerged from the closet holding two hangers. I recognized one dress from a former client’s cocktail party and the other from Christmas Eve dinner a few years ago. I wasn’t even sure that one would still fit me. I seemed to gain weight now by simply contemplating calories.

“You don’t think those are too fancy?” I asked.

He blew a dismissive breath. “I know you think this is farmland, but Newberry is a very hip, eclectic town. Besides, Dane Fairfax is a catch. You need to glam it up if you want to lock him down.”

“It’s one date. I’m not locking down anything.”

Patrick held out the black dress from the cocktail party. “Let me see you in this one. It’s simple and chic.”

“It’s March. I’ll freeze.”

“Wear a jacket. You’ll be fine. Didn’t your mother ever teach you that we have to suffer for our art?”

“My mother taught me about suffering. Period.”

Patrick’s face split into a grin. “When is she coming? The more you talk about her, the more I can’t wait to meet her.”

“Sometime between this month and never.” I took the hanger and hurried into the bathroom to change.

“You don’t need to be modest,” Patrick called.

“It’s not modesty. It’s embarrassment.” My gym membership had been for access to the smoothie bar more than anything.

“I thought you had more confidence than that. My mistake.”

I stripped off my clothes and started to pull the dress over my head, triggering a muscle spasm in my shoulder.

Crap.

Tears stung my eyes as the pain intensified.

Patrick knocked on the door. “Everything okay in there?”

“I’m stuck,” I choked out.

He wedged the door open. “You’re too muffled. What’s going on?”

“My arms are stuck.” I tried not to acknowledge his view of my apple stomach and unflattering underpants.

Patrick yanked down the fabric. “I’m glad this is a first date dress. You don’t want to end up flailing like this in the bedroom later.

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