Pasta Imperfect - By Maddy Hunter Page 0,48

see you, darling, I'll be doing more to your person than just telling you I miss you."

Euw, I liked the sound of that. "Would tomorrow be too soon? I don't necessarily have to visit Pisa." I stared at my reflection in the window of the salon. "But I should warn you. The next time you see me, I might look a little...different."

Another pause. "Different can be good." He breathed heavily into the phone. "Different...how?"

Bless his little Swiss heart. He was trying so hard to be open-minded. "I'm hoping it'll be a pleasant surprise." To both of us.

"And I hope you don't mind, Emily, but I've assured the entire family that they'll have an opportunity to meet you very soon. They tell me I made the same promise before leaving for Ireland last month and that I vowed to return home with surprising news, but my mind is a little fuzzy on what the surprise was supposed to be. Did I give you any indication about a surprise?"

Okay, this was encouraging. "You did mention something about a question you wanted to ask me."

I heard a frustrated sigh from his end. "It's not much to go on, but I'm a police inspector. I've solved crimes with less information than that. Perhaps -- Damn!" Shouting. Scuffling. Then in a rush of breath, "I need to go. My aunt was too slow. The tablecloth is on fire. Someone grab the water pitcher! Love you." Click.

"Hello, pretty."

With the phone still pressed to my ear, I turned around to find Duncan giving me an odd look. "What happened?" he asked, touching his hand to my hair.

I smiled self-consciously. "An encounter with a Zippo lighter. The lighter won."

"Ouch." He winced before mustering an optimistic grin. "But you've come to the right place. Donatella cuts my hair. She's a genius. You wouldn't believe what I looked like before she got her hands on me. Cowlicks. Split ends. Sun damage. People mistook me for Don King."

"You're just saying that," I accused, disbelieving that his stunning mane of hair could ever have been anything other than gorgeous.

"Scout's honor. No worries. She'll make you beautiful." His eyes did that lingering thing again. "Or should I say...more beautiful."

Unh-oh. Okay, moving right along -- "Would you be able to switch Jackie Thum to another room?" I was all business again. "She seems to have a personality conflict with her present roommate."

"Jackie Thum." He pinched his eyes shut, plucking data from behind his lids. "Her roommate is Jeannette Bowles. Food critic. Burlington, Vermont. She's won a truckload of writing awards and listed every single one on her travel form -- in the Medical History section. I guess you have space for that if you're healthy."

Another award winner? I bet Keely wouldn't be too happy if she found out about that.

"Since Jackie's part of your group, I could move her into your room."

I thought about Jackie. I thought about Mom. I thought about the two of them in the same room for eight hours or more. I broke out in a cold sweat. "Um..."

"Or I could put her in with Keely."

Gum snapping. Bubble blowing. Incessant chatter. Endless self-promotion. "That would work." Okay, so maybe I still had unresolved issues from when Jack walked out on me when we were married. I'll admit it. I'm human.

"Problem solved." Duncan opened the salon door and, with an encouraging arm around my shoulder, ushered me inside. "I have a couple of minutes, Em. Come on in. I'll introduce you."

Two and a half hours later, I exited the salon with hair that was shiny, sassy, and short. It framed my face. It hugged my neck. The style would look good wet, dry, or mussed, with or without gel, mousse, or pliable styling paste. She'd added color that enhanced the richness of my natural shade. I didn't feel like Emily Andrew, Iowa tour escort, anymore. I felt like Emily Andrew, Italian sexpot. Sultry. Steamy. Voluptuous. Broke.

It was damned expensive transforming into an Italian sexpot.

Click clack click clack click clack.

"Wow! Would you look at you?" Jackie shouted as she hurried in my direction.

I spun in place so she could get the whole 360-degree view.

"I love it. I absolutely love it. Turn around so I can see the back again. This is so you, Emily. It's perky. Stylish. Avant garde. I told you you needed to update the old frizzy curls. Don't you think it's you? Don't you love it?" She ruffled the top of my hair with her fingers. "Okay, Tom would