Granny said, shaking her head. “What are you going to tell her, if she’s wanting you to get her back with Jeff?”
“I don’t know.” Turning down Kitty Carelle’s business wouldn’t exactly secure Babette’s staying power as the Love Doctor of Birmingham, but helping her get back with Jeff . . .
“Well?” Granny prompted.
“I don’t know,” Babette repeated numbly.
“Okay, we haven’t got time to worry about it now. I’ll clean up the kitchen. You put on that new red dress you bought at Marshall’s. It’s sophisticated, but not too flashy. You’ve got to look professional, you know.”
“But it’s red,” Babette said, thinking it wasn’t all that professional.
“Red for love, my dear, and you are the Love Doctor. That’s why she’s here, and that red dress will keep your mind on that, hopefully.” She pulled the pot of spaghetti sauce off the stove and placed the lid on top, then continued neatening the kitchen while Babette headed down the hall to change.
In record time, she swapped the tank and shorts with her new red dress and matching sandals. Blessedly, she’d taken the time to give herself a pedicure this afternoon, so every toe was tipped in red. How about that, they matched her dress, and she hadn’t even planned it! Maybe it was a sign that this meeting would go well. Babette certainly hoped so, because there were oh so many ways that it could go badly. Very badly.
The doorbell sounded, and Babette’s pulse catapulted.
“I’ll get it,” Granny called, her voice all cheery.
Babette checked her appearance in the bedroom mirror while Granny Gert welcomed Kitty into the tiny apartment. Funny, it didn’t seem so tiny a few minutes ago, when she hadn’t been trying to impress a socialite. But, Babette reminded herself, Kitty had come here seeking the Love Doctor’s help, so tiny apartment or not, Babette had already made a good impression. And it definitely wasn’t because she used to sleep with Kitty’s ex.
Spotting a gold barrette on the end of her dresser, Babette brushed her hair and gathered it sleekly back, holding it in place with the barrette at her nape. She produced her professional, confident smile for the mirror, tried to forget the fact that the client—the very wealthy client—in the front room had been engaged to Jeff merely a month ago and envisioned that last student loan disappearing.
Nice vision. Nice enough to give her the courage she needed to get Kitty Carelle’s business, no matter who the other person in her relationship woes happened to be. She took a deep breath, then started down the hall toward the front of the apartment.
“I live next door,” Granny said to the pretty woman who looked even more like Heather Locklear in person. They turned toward Babette as she entered, then Granny continued, “I’m going home, Babette. Call me when you’re ready for dinner.” She grinned congenially at Kitty, took the lady’s hand and patted it appreciatively. “Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Carelle.”
“The pleasure was mine,” Kitty said, her crystal blue eyes sparkling at Babette’s grandmother. She waited until Granny Gert had left, then turned to Babette and visibly swallowed. “You’re the Love Doctor, right?” she asked hesitantly, as though she were actually nervous. Babette noticed her body shifting ever so slightly, rocking almost imperceptibly from one foot to the other. Definitely nervous.
Babette smiled brightly. This woman didn’t know her from Eve. In her mind, Babette was a professional love-fixer and successful businesswoman. And she was nervous.
Worked for Babette.
Chapter 3
With her heart racing, Babette completed her trek across the room and shook Kitty’s hand. “Babette Robinson,” she said, “And yes, I’m the Love Doctor.” She felt good about the confidence in her tone, the self-assuredness that filled her when talking about her business venture. With Kitty Carelle calling for her services, she was doing even better than she’d realized, and she was very, very pleased about that.
“I’m sorry that I didn’t call for an appointment,” Kitty said, holding up a business card that Babette immediately recognized. She’d had the cards, glossy white with red lettering, printed a few weeks ago. “Lenora Maxwell told me how you helped her reconnect with Vince Collins, and I thought you might be able to do the same for me.”
“Well, I can sure try.” Babette waved her hand toward the small table in her breakfast nook. She casually combined the three stacks of bills, slid them into a file folder and then pushed it aside. “Come on in and sit down. I’ll get some information from