Julia and I sat opposite each other at the Mad Batter bakery. We were drinking vanilla bean frappes out of china teacups and eating our feelings. "This is huge. You must be the first non-model that Luke Dawson has ever talked to."
"It's been a crazy summer," I said.
Cupcakes and a topsy-turvy cake were on plates between us. The tablecloth was green like grass and a plastic pink flamingo had salt and pepper shakers on its back. I had told Julia the entire story. She had forgotten all about her South Beach diet.
"I am so jealous right now," she said, stuffing a piece of cake into her mouth, "I can't believe I haven't been around to see this. I always knew your car was lucky."
"Lucky? You do realize I am at his beck and call until I pay off the damages. That isn't lucky in anyone's books.
