Page 9 of The Austen Escape
“No clue. I said any poet above beer was pretentious and a whiskey one was more my style. No one appreciated that.” Isabel gave me a quick hug. “I gotta go.”
I noticed movement in my periphery. “Your timing is impeccable. Blond and Stocky just stood too. They look like they’re leaving.”
“Well, then...” She widened her eyes and added that flirtatious glint only Isabel knew how to manufacture. “They can walk me out while I thank them again. One can’t be rude about these things.”
Her parting laugh danced over the noise as she wove her way through the crowd. She paused at Moira and each woman gave the other a cursory glance and a sharp nod. I smiled—I always did when those two squared off. If they ever stopped sizing each other up, they might be friends.
Isabel now stood about ten feet away chatting with Blond and Stocky, and Moira joined me at the bar.
“You didn’t tell me Little Miss All That was going to be here.” When Moira heard how Isabel gave everyone nicknames, she’d returned the favor.
“There’s something so painfully eager and needy about her.She has to be everyone’s focal point.” She slid onto Isabel’s stool and we faced the bar again.
“I decided to accept that trip she invited me on. Dad twisted my arm.”
“Good for him. You need a vacation even if it comes with corsets—and her.”
I opened my mouth to reply, probably to defend Isabel, when someone pushed into me from behind.
It was Isabel. She was back, hugging me tight and whispering into my ear. “Blond and Stocky come here all the time. When we get back from England, we’ll come celebrate again. Maybe we’ll both get free drinks.”
“Maybe.” I clasped her arms and squeezed. “But you promised you wouldn’t set me up anymore.”
She laughed and stepped back. I twisted the stool to face her. Sitting to standing, we were eye to eye.
“Sharing a couple drinks with two cute guys is hardly a setup. I’d never break my promise.”
I arched a brow.
“Not until I forget it, at least.” She flapped her hand in front of my face. “Never mind all that. I came back to thank you. This trip is going to be amazing. I’ll forward you the link and our flight info.”
“Do I need to do anything?”
Isabel shook her head. “It’s all scheduled and paid for, but you should at least check out the website. It’s gorgeous—dresses are supplied, hats, shoes, everything. Wait till you read about all the activities.” She glanced at her watch again. “Now I really do need to run.”
With that, she waved and disappeared.
I looked to Moira. “I don’t think she ever doubted I’d say yes.”
Chapter 5
Ireceived copious e-mails and texts over the weekend. Isabel didn’t have time to meet again,much too overwhelmed, but she did have time to send long lists of to-dos, to-packs, to-sign-up-fors, and to-read-up-ons. It was a good thing Golightly was off my plate, because I was now overwhelmed too—by Regency England.
Feeling a little bored on Sunday, I played with my dad’s latest gift. It was an extraordinary dispenser made from antique kitchen tools, fine copper wires, and several porcelain knobs used for electrical wiring back in the 1920s. It dropped out Skittles for me—one every 2.2 minutes.
“I figure at fifty-four Skittles per bag, if it takes you two hours to eat a bag, you might stop at one,” he’d said.
He had made it for work. He knew Golightly was giving me fits and that I either constructed wire animals or ate Skittles when concentrating. After dinner, while we dismantled some of its larger parts to fit into my car, I didn’t have the heart to tell him of Golightly’s demise. I simply gave him a kiss, a hug, and a thank-you.
So instead of measuring life at work, my gizmo measured cleaning at home. My apartment took half a bag, and my car aquarter. When I called Dad to report, we spent fifteen minutes pondering what we could measure in Skittles and how many each project might take. We determined cleaning his garage workspace would take at least three family-size bags.
“It’s only noon. What will you do with the rest of your day?”
I looked around the apartment. I often worked on Sundays, not because I had to, but because I found doodling and design relaxing. There was no work. But there were lists.
“Isabel sent me tons of stuff about our trip. I need to sort through it all, and I think I better brush up on my Austen. Maybe grab a book or two.”
“That’d be nice.” I could hear him nod with each word.
