Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
“I love clothes,” she continues. “Bags. Shoes. Jewelry. Scarves. Fashion is just so wonderful to me.”
“You have some blank spaces.” I gesture to the shelves she has designated for her bags and watch as she bites her lip and then nods.
“I’m picky,” she admits with a laugh. “I want the more luxurious bags. I like labels. So, I save up and buy the bags on my wish list when I can.”
“Is there one bag that is the bag of all bags that you’d want to own?”
“Duh.” She laughs again and sips her wine, wandering over to pet the leather on a black purse. “I want a black Chanel classic flap, medium, with silver hardware. I’d prefer caviar leather.”
“They make leather out of fish eggs?”
That makes her grin, and it’s a punch to the gut. Fucking hell, she’s beautiful.
“No, it’s just a thicker, grainier leather. The lambskin is also gorgeous and feels like butter, but I think it’s more fragile, so I’d be afraid of scratching it. Anyway, that’s a lot of information about a handbag.”
“It interests you,” I reply simply.
“My ultimate dream?” she says before taking another sip of her wine. “Buying that bag in Paris, at the original Chanel store on Rue Cambon. In Coco Chanel’s store, the one she labored in and loved. I’m somewhat of a Coco Chanel history buff.”
“Fascinating.” Following her out of the closet and back to the living room, I sit next to her and turn to face her on the comfortable couch. “What do you find the most interesting about her?”
Polly narrows her eyes. “She never lived in the apartment above her shop. She entertained there. She loved to entertain and would often find ways to trick people into staying longer. I think she was lonely. But she lived just a block away at the Ritz Paris. From her suite, she could see her shop, and that’s where she lived for thirty years. The suite still exists to this day, and it’s the only room in the whole hotel that is decorated differently because they let her decorate it the way she wanted. From the photos I’ve seen online, it’s beautiful. She was an interesting woman, and I love her bags and clothes.”
“Did you study fashion in college?”
The doorbell rings before she can answer, so I collect dinner from the delivery guy, tip him, and when I turn, Polly is standing behind me.
“Let’s eat on the patio,” she suggests and leads me out back.
I have to blink. It’s beautiful out here. There’s a swing and several chairs situated around a gas fireplace, and with the click of a button, screens come down, closing us in.
“I had the screens put in last summer,” she tells me, “because I hate it when I’m eating and all the flies, bees, and mosquitos decide to join me.”
She flips on an overhead fan, and we take our seats next to each other, digging into containers full of food that smell like heaven.
“I haven’t been to Ciao yet,” she says, choosing lasagna. She adds a piece of bread to her plate and sits back to dig in. After one bite, she closes her eyes and tips her head back, as if in ecstasy. “Oh, my God, I didn’t know what I was missing.”
That groan hits me right in the dick. She moaned like that when I was inside of her and when I was licking her, and it all comes back in vivid detail.
But I take a sip of wine and sit back with some bowtie pasta with Alfredo sauce and a piece of bread of my own.
“So, what drew you to this particular house?” I ask her, trying to keep my libido in check.
“I wanted the project.” She rolls her eyes. “Someone should have shaken some sense into me. I thought it sounded fun, but who has the time? My brother helps out a lot. He did the closet and this patio for me.”
I can tell where she spends all her time in this house. Out here and in her closet.
Those are the areas she’s poured love into. The rest is clean, but an afterthought.
“I like the location,” she continues and reaches for her Caesar salad. “And I like the neighborhood. Summer used to live just two blocks over, and we’d hang out at each other’s houses in the evening with a glass of wine, chatting. It was nice. I know the neighbors to the left of me. Larry and Denise. They’re super sweet people, and they have two teenage boys, Jeremy and Zach. Zach mows my lawn. In the winter, they take care of the snow. They’re good kids.”
“And the other neighbors?”
“I don’t know them as well,” she admits and wipes her mouth with a napkin. “They throw block parties in the summer and stuff, but I’m usually at the shop.”