Bid Me Now by Rebecca Gilise Page B

labeling each section of the sculpture in preparation for transportation and installation tomorrow. Of course, she would much rather bury her head under the covers and dream about Nick for the rest of the day.  
    The man who wouldn’t call.
    But no, she had to work.  
    Bundled in her pink cushy robe and fluffy slippers with penguin faces, a Christmas gift from Bree, Miri ambled downstairs to the kitchen, surprised to find Abe preparing breakfast, and more importantly, brewing coffee.
    “Hi, there. Ready for eggs benedict?” Abe chirped over his shoulder before turning to look at her with one eyebrow up. “Jesus, Morticia, what’s wrong with your eyes?”
    “Didn’t wash my face last night, that’s all. Be kind, Abe. I’m fragile. You’re up early.”
    She leaned against the countertop, yawning and watching Abe rip around the kitchen like some Energizer Chef on new batteries, constantly flicking his messy, shoulder-length fair hair away from his face. In his striped boxer shorts, Washington Post T-shirt, and Bree’s tiger-print slippers, he looked adorable. This boyfriend wasn’t even close to Bree’s usual gym-ripped, brain-optional type. Abe Bryant was lanky, easy-going, kind, and intellectual. Definitely her friend’s best ever boyfriend and the one, Miri suspected, who would eventually get Bree to the altar.
    “Yeah, well, Bree’s appetite kicked in, as usual.”  
    Miri shuffled to the bread cupboard. “I’ll make the toast,” she offered. “She’ll skin you for wearing her slippers. Where is she, anyway?”
    “Leave that and sit down. She’s gone to get a paper and bread. That stuff in your cupboard is growing some weird mold. Want coffee?”
    “Mmm, please.” She flopped down at the kitchen table, pulling her tangled mane into a ponytail with an old Scrunchie found in her robe pocket.
    “How was your date last night? The first in a while, apparently.”  
    Abe was very like Bree. Always to the point. No wonder they got on. “Well, it wasn’t exactly a date, although it kind of ended that way,” Miri conceded with a small sigh. “Anyway, I think I hear the paper coming.”
    The front door slammed. Bree strode into the kitchen, hipped the door closed, and dumped an armful of bread, chocolate bars, and a fat Sunday newspaper on the table.  
    “Miri says dinner with Nick was not a date, but date it was,” announced Abe, mimicking a corner newsboy. “I’ve told you girls not to keep eggs in the fridge, dammit, or at least take them out a couple of hours before they’re needed.”  
    “Yeah, yeah,” Bree said, plunking herself down at the table and fixing Miri with one of her nosier-than-usual stares. “Look at you, panda eyes. Must have been some night.”
    Drat, this was about to turn into a grilling. Bree had the look of a puppy given a new slipper to chew. “It was okay.”  
    “So what happened?” Bree divided the newspaper into three sections — a Sunday ritual intended to avoid squabbles, although it seldom worked. “Any horizontal action? Is he any good? Stupid question. He’d be sooo perfect.”
    Miri rested her elbows on the table and cupped her chin in her hands, relishing the memory of Nick’s perfection. “Mmm, he’s okay.”  
    Bree arched a brow. “You’ve got Nick all over your face! Details, please.”  
    “We had a lovely dinner and chatted all evening. He gave me a polite kiss in the car. Then we said goodnight.”
    “Aw, not the Cliff Notes, sweetie. All of it.”  
    “None of your beeswax. But there was one thing. Marcus turned up at Jean-Paul’s with a date or colleague or someone like that — Dr. Mariette Hastings.”
    Bree slapped a hand to her chest in mock horror. “A date! Omigod, I love it! Marcus would be so curious about Nick. What happened?”
    “He just said he was surprised to see me out when the sculpture isn’t finished. The thing is, he invited me to Jean-Paul’s last week and I turned him down, telling him I was too busy. I