Free Olive Oil and White Bread by Georgia Beers Page A

bare feet. She wouldnever get to sleep if she didn’t dump some of this detail out of her head. Pad of paper and pen in hand, she curled up on the couch under the afghan her grandmother crocheted and began to list the things she needed to do.
    A long while later, Angie exhaled slowly, set her pen down, and read the list. There. A bit better. There was so much to do; this was an enormous undertaking and creating the list had already alleviated much of the panic that had set in. This was the biggest account she’d ever had, and though she felt like she had a good handle on the business, it still made her jittery and nervous. Hope was confident in her. And proud of her; she’d told her so. Jillian’s pride was obvious. Mr. Guelli? Angie had expected he’d be happier. After all, the Solomon account meant a nice profit for Logo Promo. Oh, he’d congratulated her with his signature pat on the behind, but still she didn’t feel like he considered her an equal to some of the salesmen, as she’d been hoping. Stupidly, she was beginning to understand.
    I’ll just have to show him , she thought. I’ll make him a ton of money, and then he’ll have no choice but to see that I’m good at this .
    Even in her head she sounded like a petulant child, but she didn’t care. This account was a big deal, and she was proud of landing it. And Jillian was proud of her for landing it. That’s all that really mattered in the grand scheme of life. She laid her head back against the arm of the couch and closed her tired and scratchy eyes.
    â€œHoney. Come on. Angie.”
    Angie inhaled deeply and opened her eyes. Jillian’s blue eyes looked down at her with concern, hair disheveled, clad in white boxers with light blue pinstripes and a blue tank top. She looked delicious. “Hi,” Angie croaked.
    â€œWhat are you doing down here?” Jillian asked, a flash of hurt zipping across her face.
    Angie sat up, stretched. “I couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to wake you up with all my tossing and turning and sighing.” She handed Jillian the list, explaining what had prompted her to make it. “I’m sorry, baby. For what it’s worth, I would have much rather been in bed with you.”
    Jillian kissed her quickly on the lips. “Well, it’s after six. You wanted to get in early today, right?”
    Angie’s eyes widened. “Yes. Crap.” She kicked off the afghan and beelined for the stairs.
    â€œI’ll bring up your coffee,” Jillian called after her.

Seven
    The second bedroom was perfect for Jillian’s studio. She stood in the middle of the square room, a fingertip between her teeth, and studied each of the walls. She’d painted them a creamy Navajo white, nice and neutral and calming. Deciding on the wall to the left, she used a small level to help hang one of her own paintings, a small abstract in hues of blue and green that had been an experiment at first, but ended up being a piece she was rather proud of. She marked a spot for the nails, tapped two of them in with a hammer, and hung the large canvas.
    â€œPerfect,” she said softly to nobody.
    The late October sky was growing dark beyond the two windows that during the day let in copious amounts of natural light. Jillian frowned at the twilight, already missing the long days of summer. Winter would be here in no time.
    With a sigh, she checked to see if anything else needed adjustment. “What else could I possibly want to do with my Friday night than arrange things?” she asked the empty room. She’d unpacked everything over the past few days and the room felt good to her, inviting. She could be creative here. Canvasses, paints, charcoal, paper, easel, desk, everything had fit. It was a bit crowded, but it felt warm and cozy, which was what she’d hoped for. She didn’t have a lot, just the basics, because she didn’t consider herself an