“I just stopped in to tell you that I’ll need to be gone for an extra hour at lunch on Thursdays. If that’s okay.”

Marissa managed a shaky breath. “It’s definitely okay. I think we can get Ruthann to agree to another hour on the desk—besides, she sort of hinted if you move into the tech side, she’d like the chance to prove she can do reception.”

“Well,” Heather said seriously, “she’s young but let’s give her a chance.”

“She’s the same age you were when I hired you.”

“True.” She grinned and Marissa wondered how it was Heather knew that shade of lipstick would make her mouth look wide and appealing. Guys were idiots—Heather was a doll. “I thought I could make up the hour by coming in thirty minutes early and leaving thirty minutes late?”

“It’s a plan. I’ll let Ocky know. I’ll call it cross-training and administrative staff development opportunities.”

“You,” Heather said cheekily, “are so full of shit sometimes.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Heather laughed as she headed back to the front office. Marissa could feel the book warm under her hand. She didn’t want to look down. She’d only start crying again. She closed it without another glance and pushed it gently into her daypack. Then, before she could rationalize away her impulse, she turned to her computer.

Dear Linda,

There’s a beautiful rose garden not far from my office. Could I meet you there Saturday afternoon at three for a walk?

Marissa

P.S. If yes, click this URL for directions.

She held her breath for several moments before she clicked the send button. Then she found herself holding it again, waiting for a reply, which was a silly waste of time. Linda could be anywhere, of course.

She wasn’t disappointed. The chime had barely finished playing before she opened Linda’s answer.

Dear Marissa,

I’d love a walk on Saturday.Thank you.

Yours, Linda

***

“How much is this going to hurt?” Marissa thought the warm goop felt kind of good as it was spread on her knees.

Her mother, being similarly painted with wax, said, “Not as much as electrolysis.”

“Huh. If you had wanted me to be prettier when I was little, would you have taken me to electrolysis?”

“Of course not—well, how little are we talking?”

“Twelve. The moment my hair went from fine and blond to wiry and dark.”

“No, not then. If you had had some kind of problem where you were getting teased in school or something, we might have talked about it. But twelve is hard enough. Brace yourself.”

The wax specialist who was in charge of Marissa’s legs smiled. “It’s not that bad. Just take a deep breath and flex your calf muscles for me.”

Marissa did as she was told and for a frozen moment of time she didn’t feel any pain. Then a rectangular patch of skin on her calf seared with fire and she gasped. “Holy ma-loy! What are we doing this for?”