Free Olive Oil and White Bread by Georgia Beers Page B

artist—more an aficionado who liked to dabble. She would never sell her work because, honestly, she wasn’t all that good; she simply enjoyed creating it.
    Jillian didn’t love spending this much time alone, but Angie was doing well with the Solomon account, and word of mouth from the Solomon higher-ups was bringing her new clients. That was thebeauty of the kind of sales job she had; if she pleased a client, they told their friends. More clients meant more business meant more money. It also meant more schmoozing. She often took clients to lunch, dinner, drinks, insisting that this was all about image. A successful, friendly, generous image. She came home exhausted, but happy.
    There were days, though, when Jillian didn’t want to forgive the late nights. Yes, Angie was working her butt off. Yes, Jillian was proud of her, but sometimes all she wanted was Angie home, sitting across the dinner table from her, the two of them talking about their day. That was the partnership she wanted. That’s what she’d signed up for.
    She hadn’t embarked upon this relationship so she could spend this much time by herself while her girlfriend wined and dined people she hardly knew.
    She tried not to feel like this.
    Mostly, she managed.
    It was nearing 7:30. Dinner had been a tuna sandwich, since Angie had told her that morning she’d be running late tonight. At the sound of the door downstairs, Jillian peeked out the window and saw Angie’s car. A wave of relief washed through her, warm and comforting, as it always did when Angie came home.
    â€œWhere’s my woman?” Angie’s voice boomed up the stairs, low and comical, bringing a grin to Jillian’s face.
    â€œUp here, babe.”
    Following her footsteps up the hardwood stairs, Angie appeared in the doorway. Her black suit still looked fresh—or at least fresher than it should have after a twelve-hour workday—but Angie looked decidedly tired. A faded darkness underscored each eye, and she didn’t lean on the doorjamb so much as fall against it. But her dark eyes sparkled, and her smile was genuine. “How’s my girl?”
    Jillian set down her tools and walked the handful of steps into Angie’s waiting arms. “Better now.” She snuggled in, burying her face in Angie’s neck. “How was your day?”
    Angie squeezed her tightly. “Brutal. Guelli was on the warpath. God, he’s getting cranky in his old age. My jacket order for Matt Jones is still not done. I asked Ivan to show me some art three days ago, and he has yet to get to it. I’m sorry, but after three months,you’re not the new graphic artist any more. He has not impressed me. He’s disorganized, arrogant, and slow.” She shook her head, annoyed. “I’m beat,” she said and blew out a breath. “However…” A mischievous grin appeared. “I have something for you.”
    â€œFor me?”
    â€œIs anybody else in this house having a birthday this week?”
    â€œHmm.” Jillian scrunched up her face, a show of thought. “No, I can’t think of anybody.”
    â€œWell, then, I guess the little surprise I have is for you. Come with me.” Angie led her by the hand down the stairs into the living room and stopped. “Okay. Stay here. Close your eyes.”
    Jillian did as she was told.
    â€œNo peeking.” Angie waved her hand in front of Jillian’s face.
    â€œI’m not.” Jillian listened as Angie moved away from her into the kitchen. There was some rustling of some sort, then what she was sure was a whimper. She furrowed her brow, trying to figure out from the sound what her girlfriend was up to. Finally, she heard Angie come back and stop in front of her.
    â€œOkay. Open.” Angie stood with a small, white puppy cradled in her arms. “Happy birthday, baby.” The dog turned its head toward Jillian, its eyes a clear hazel