"Miranda motioned toward the bar to a tall man whose back was currently to them. His hair was about collar length and the most perfect shade of brown�...�Julie blushed clear to her toes when she realized "Mr. Hottie" was none other than her neighbor, Drew Knickerson."Jules? You all right?" Um—yeah," she replied. She pulled on the collar of her shirt and fanned herself. "Is it hot in here?"Miranda chuckled. "No, but you look like you're burning up."If you only knew, Julie thought as she continued to. The ladies should have been home. Our Amy was six months old by then. Fred’s Julian was three months. Both women nursed and they hated pumping. Our temporary nanny, a luxury but a necessary one in this first year while we were still sorting out who would do what in the house, was reading in the nursery.The babies were fast asleep. Little angels, everyone calls them, but every parent knows how demanding the little angels, even the so-called “easy” ones, are when they’re awake. These two were. I'd forgotten." Poor mom. Here she was, all decked out and in the big city, just yearning for a bit of the bright lights."Okay then," she went on, "we stick around for the dust-to-dust stuff, but please can we forget about the stale donuts in the church basement?"Dad sort of sat there in his usual way. Pretending he didn't know us.Wondering who these sick strangers were sitting around his mother's livingroom profaning her memory. Well, no. He generally keeps quiet, keeping his batteries on. She gently smiled as if she knew all about me, what was going on and I quietly answered her question that not at all did she embarrass me, that I felt humbled to be with her. We talked and laughed and soon our conversation started to become more personal and intimate and I guess I was a little taken up when Marguerite asked is I was a boob or bum guy. I must have blushed because she apologised but I said she needn’t have done and that I loved everything about a good woman. She chuckled and made.
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