Chapter Five: Small Town Girl

Andy was late for dinner, and she felt sweaty and grimy as she pushed open the screen door and banged into the kitchen. Miranda was standing over the stove, stirring something in a pot. The kitchen was hot and steamy, but her white lace apron looked crisp and freshly starched. Miranda appeared cool and elegant and untouchable, as always. Not one silver hair was out of place.

"Sorry," Andy panted, kissing her partner clumsily on the cheek. She was still out of breath after pedaling all the way home. "My afternoon got sidetracked by the two lovebirds."

"Mm." Miranda didn't respond to the kiss. "Marty telephoned earlier, while you were over at her place. She feels you are overworked, and in need of a vacation. I hope you didn't spend the entire afternoon crying on her shoulder."

"I fell asleep, actually. I work incredibly long hours, and I don't get much sleep at night." Andy couldn't help it. She pouted, her mood sulky and defiant. The tall, long-legged girl lounged against the spotless kitchen counter, putting a piece of celery in her mouth and snapping it right in two. "Marty and Abigail are your friends too, you know. Why don't you ever visit them?"

"I sent you to visit the two lovebirds on business," Miranda said softly. "I pay you to make deliveries, stock shelves, and mail out of town orders. I also provide you with nourishing meals and a place to stay. The fact is, Andrea, I pay you very generously for a shopgirl. More generously than I find reasonable."

Andy flushed. "You get your money's worth."

"I think we both do." Miranda's cool gaze swept arrogantly and possessively over Andy's mane of tousled dark hair, her torn and sweaty t-shirt and her smudged and grimy face. "Now go upstairs and bathe. We'll discuss this vacation business over dinner."

"But I don't want to discuss it!" Andy's dark eyes flashed like lightning. "I love my job, Miranda. I love all of it. I just want . . ."

"Bath. Dinner. Go." Miranda's voice was soft, almost soothing. But her winter-gray eyes were like laser beams. Or a hypnotic ray. Instead of arguing Andy found she was meekly nodding her head.

"Bath, dinner." Andy closed her eyes, sighing as Miranda kissed her gently on the lips. She was suddenly very tired, and glad to let the quarrel drop. Yet she felt that she'd been utterly overpowered.

Relaxing in the tub, Miranda's assistant put her feet up and closed her eyes, grateful for some time to think. Andy had the feeling that she'd hurt Miranda's feelings somehow. Maybe she should apologize? But it was hard to understand what she'd done wrong. Marty and Abigail were very old friends, and valued customers. Andy loved hanging out with them. That shouldn't have been a problem, unless . . . maybe Miranda wanted her all to herself.

That idea stirred Andy's imagination. She got to thinking about how Miranda had kissed her in the kitchen just now. It was like being shushed, having her lips lightly brushed shut by Miranda's. Only now Andy saw things another way. Maybe that kiss was a reward for coming home at the end of a long day. Maybe it was a hint about the future. A promise of things to come.

Andy had felt worn out when she sank into the steaming hot tub. But now she felt a surge of energy. Rising from the bath, she went out of the way to arrange her hair and put on big-girl makeup and dress in one of Miranda's sophisticated Paris gowns.

"So I was thinking about you and me," Andy said, in her most seductive voice, leaning over to pour Miranda some more wine. All through the elegant meal, her boss had talked shop, analyzing fashions and discussing this and that, while Andy listened politely without hearing a word. She'd been trying to work up her courage, and now at last she felt ready to speak up. "I think my job performance would improve if we took some time off. What if we went on a little trip together? Marty and Abigail do it every year."

"I'd like that," Miranda said quietly. "But I cannot leave the shop. And I suspect the ridiculously romantic notion of a get-away for two was planted in your head by those two lovebirds. Marty and Abigail have been playing matchmaker for years, trying to fix me up with some sweet and innocent small-town girl."

"Well, I am a small-town girl," Andy pouted. "I grew up here. I suppose it was stupid to think I could ever be more than that."

"That's how they see you, Andrea." Miranda gently corrected her. "It's not how I see you. Now, I would be delighted if you accompanied our friends to the historical society get-together, or whatever it is they call it. But while you are in Vermont, can I trust you to take care of some private business for me?"