Nine
I changed clothes three times, making a wasteland of my closet. I reined my model behavior in when I began contemplating underwear. There was no way this guy would see my underwear. Still, I wore a black lace set beneath a blue sundress that was near the color of Christopher’s eyes.
Dressed, I went into the kitchen and marinated two chicken breasts. I chopped some red potatoes and veggies to roast. I chilled a bottle of wine. Then I sat and worried that Christopher would be the kind of guy who drank beer.
I checked the clock. Did I have time to go out and pick up some beer? Did I know what brand of beer a guy like Christopher would drink?
The doorbell rang.
I raced down the hall in my wedge sandals and flung the door open. Christopher stood on the other side. He was dressed casua
