Mom Over Miami - By Annie Jones Page 0,23
can’t—”
She lunged for the phone, marveling that it didn’t slip through her soapy fingers and go sailing through the air. “I can’t believe it’s you, Lauren.”
She couldn’t. She really couldn’t.
“Yes, well, hate to impose, but Stilton’s Tae Kwon Do lesson at our church fell through at the last minute.”
And you want me to teach him how to break boards with various body parts? She had the presence of mind not to say the first thing that popped into her mind, though the image of beating her head against a two-by-four lingered even as she said, “That’s too bad. What can I do for you?”
“Since we were already out running errands, I hoped you wouldn’t mind if we stopped by a bit sooner than we planned?”
She was an early bird. But she called first. Of course she called first—otherwise it would be a kind of a fault, and this woman didn’t have those.
“Fine, Lauren. I’m frosting the cake ri-i-i-ght—” she leaned over, dipped the spatula into the tub and slopped a dollop of frosting onto the cake “—now.”
“See you in a sec!”
“A what? A sack?” Hannah stuck her finger in her ear. The movers had begun shifting furniture about, clunking and grunting and shoving things along the carpeted floor.
“Well, Tessa, honey, I hope she won’t find me in a sack. Though if I thought I could find one big enough to hide in, I might try it.” She waved the spatula, then started to work. “I shouldn’t have let this frosting sit with the lid off so long. It’s gotten dried-up and a little stiff.”
More thumping, bumping and grumbling came from the next room.
She scraped the frosting from the edge of the blade, releasing the sweet scent of sugar and vanilla into the air. “Hey, Sam.”
He peeked around the corner.
“How’s it looking?”
“I can’t tell. Everything’s in plastic, but the big couch looks kinda small.”
“Really?” She plunked the spatula down and stretched to peer around the corner at the plastic-covered lump in her living room. “Must be the love seat.”
“Is that what it’s called?”
“Yup. You can pull the plastic off if you want—I have to make this frosting work.”
She heard the plastic ripping. Sam let out a whoop.
“At least someone is having a good time, huh, Tessa?” She stabbed the spatula in the tub and tackled the cake once again, but this time the thick white icing went on smooth and gorgeous. “It’s working!”
She didn’t dare stop now, not even when a loud whump shook the walls.
“What was that, Sam?”
“It’s big and wooden—must be that arm ware.”
“Armoire. It’s—it’s not important. Are they putting it in the right place?”
“Yes.”
She took a deep breath and smiled down at the suddenly flawless waves of frosting on top of her soccer celebration cake. “At least something is going right today.”
“Hello? Hannah? It’s Lauren.”
“Come on in. I’m in the kitchen.”
“I see you’ve got your furniture.”
“Today’s the day for early arrivals. We didn’t expect it until this afternoon. Pardon the chaos, by the way!”
“Don’t give it another thought. Everyone’s had some days when their house looked like—”
“Wow!”
Wow? Hannah mouthed Stilton’s reaction. The furniture must look better than she remembered. She couldn’t wait any longer; she wanted to see. If it wowed an eight-year-old, it must be…
“Retro chic?” Lauren skimmed her fingertips over the high-gloss finish of a full-fledged wet bar. Right there in her living room where her Mission-style armoire should have rested. “Is that what they call this, Hannah?”
“No! No, no, no, no! They call this a mistake. This is not our furniture!”
Hannah made a quick tally of the things deposited in her home. A leopard-print futon—the thing she’d thought was her love seat. A giant orange ottoman, on wheels, no less. A bar, with a glass back and rack to hang glasses overhead. And a pair of stools with dice and drinks on the cushions!
“This is not my home. This is somebody’s rec room!”
Lauren touched her, shoulder to shoulder, and murmured, “Somebody with very…interesting taste.”
Hannah looked at the open doorway. “Where are those delivery guys?”
Sam pointed. “Inside the truck.”
“Maybe I should just get the cake and get out of your way so you can sort this out.”
“Oh, yes, good.” The sooner Lauren left, the sooner Hannah could fall apart. She motioned for the woman to follow her into the kitchen.
“I didn’t have time to decorate it, but I bought some of those premade sugar decorations as a backup, so you can take those with you and put them on as soon as the icing sets a