Page 48 of Inferno
When they just smiled at each other, he asked hopefully, “Is there somewhere we could all go to get better acquainted?”
Celeste smirked at him, draping a possessive arm around Prissy’s shoulders. “Sorry, sugar,” she said, affecting a Southern drawl that was thicker than molasses. “Two’s company, three’s a crowd.”
“But—”
“I don’t think she stuttered, Torrance,” Prissy said mildly.
Giving her and Celeste a look of patent regret, Torrance picked up his drink and moved off, no doubt to find a more willing conquest.
Prissy and Celeste looked at each other,thenburst out laughing like two schoolgirls.
“Oh, Pris.It’ssogood to see you again.” Celeste hugged Prissy tightly, then drew back to give her an admiring once-over. “Girl, you lookamazing!”
“Thank you,” Prissy said, not entirely immune to the flattery. “I’ve been trying like hell to stick to my diet and exercise regimen. I’m determined to fit into the gown I bought months ago for next Saturday’s fireman’s ball.”
“Well, whatever you’re doing is definitely working,” Celeste declared. “Girl, you look like you’re alreadybackdown to a size eight!”
“Um, not quite.But thanks for saying so.” Prissy smiled at Celeste. “You look good, too.”
But that was nothing new. For as long as Prissy had known her, Celeste had always been beautiful. At thirty-five she boasted a petite, slender figure, a flawless café au lait complexion and cinnamon-brown eyes. Like Prissy, she wore black heels with a fitted black dress. But unlike Prissy, Celeste hadn’t needed to tuck in her stomach with a girdle.
Gently clasping Prissy’s hands between hers, Celeste said earnestly, “Thank you so much for agreeing to meet me for dinner, Pris.”
“You didn’t give me much of a choice,” Prissy said wryly. “You called my hotel room and threatened to crash my workshop tomorrow if I didn’t have dinner with you.”
Celeste grinned unabashedly. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”
Before Prissy could respond, the hostess appeared to escort them to a table tucked into a corner of the upscale downtown restaurant, which was reputedly one of the best in Rochester.
After Prissy and Celeste perused the leather-bound menus and ordered their entrées, they quietly regarded each other across the linen-covered table. Both knew they had a lot of ground to cover, but neither knew where to start.
It was Celeste who broke the silence. “How long will you be in town?”
“Just until Sunday when the conference ends.”
Celeste smiled knowingly. “I’m sure you’re eager to get back home to Stan and the boys.”
“I am,” Prissy admitted. “I miss them already.”
As soon as she checked into her hotel room that afternoon, she’d called Stan to let him know that she’d arrived safely. After they chatted for a while, he’d passed the phone around to their sons. By the time Prissy finished talking to Mason—who’d promised to score a touchdown for her during his football game on Saturday—she’d been ready to grab her suitcase and catch the first flight back home. How pathetic was she?
“How’s your mother doing?” Celeste asked.
Prissy sipped her martini that she’d brought from the bar. “I just spoke to her this morning. She’s doing well.”
Her widowed mother lived with Prissy’s older brother, Theo, and his wife and twin daughters. “Everyone’s coming to Coronado for Thanksgiving this year.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Celeste said warmly. “I know how much your mom and Theo miss seeing the boys every day. I thought they’d never forgive you for leaving Atlanta.”
“I’m not sure they have,” Prissy said wryly. “They fuss at me every chance they get.”
“They mean well.” Celeste’s smile was tinged with sorrow. “I’m not sure where I’ll be spending Thanksgiving. Grant invited me to accompany him to Vermont, but I don’t think I’m ready to meet his family. It’s…too soon.”
Prissy said nothing.
An uncomfortable silence passed.
“So,” Celeste ventured carefully, “how are things between you and Stan?”
