tail.
âCome on, letâs go sit down and wait for this to finish. It shouldnât take long.â Itâll be fine.
She glanced at the coffeepot, which wouldnât start automatically for another two hours, hit the on switch, and went to sit on the couch while it brewed. After a few minutes searching for the remote, she finally found it buried between two cushions and flipped on the TV. An old sitcom was on. She pulled the afghan from the back of the couch and curled into the corner of the couch to wait. Maybe she would just close her eyes for a minute . . .
Olivia yawned and rolled over. Something cold and wet nudged her cheek. She opened one eye and then squinted it shut against the sunlight streaming through the sheer curtains. âUgh . . .â
Barney nudged her face again.
âWhat? Canât you see Iâm sleeping?â
A noise from the other room caught her attention, niggled at the back of her mind, then jarred her awake. I canât even believe this. She glanced at the time on the cable box, tossed the afghan aside, and ran for the washing machine. With no idea what time Garrett would head out to the cleaners, she tossed the shirt into the dryer, turned it on high, and headed for the bathroom. She would take a quick shower and get ready. By then the shirt should be dry and sheâd be able to head him off, if she ran.
Okay, I have this under control. Without even waiting for the water to get warm, she jumped in, soaped up, rinsed off, and jumped out. She tugged a brush through the tangles in her hair, and after a little blush, mascara, and eyeliner, she was ready to leave. She dumped some food into Barneyâs bowl and grabbed the leash. One uneventful five-minute walk later and she was ready to run out. Yes! She poured a lukewarm cup of coffee, took a sip, threw her bag over her shoulder, grabbed the shirt from the dryer, and . . . froze.
âOh no. No no no. Please tell me this isnât happening.â Barney yelped and tilted his head. She lifted the shirt to eye level, turned it, and squinted to bring it into better focus. Nope. There was no way to deny it. The shirt was a mess. It had shriveled up into a wrinkled ball about three sizes smaller than it had been when she started. Now what? She huffed out a breath and threw the offending piece of clothing onto the dryer. Great. She pressed her fists to her eyes.
Without looking back, she grabbed her keys and the ruined shirt, and stormed out the door. There has to be a way to fix this. Thin k, Liv, think. She ran to the corner and lifted her hand for a cab.
âWhere to, miss?â The driver started the meter and pulled out into traffic without even glancing at her in the rearview mirror.
She rattled off the address sheâd seen a million times in Garrettâs e-mails and hoped it was his home. Pulling out her phone, she did a search for nearby stores that might be open Thanksgiving morning. She scrolled through store after store, checking the holiday hours and dismissing one after another as closed, before finally finding one that was open. Davenportâs. She called the number, just to be sure, and a recorded voice told her theyâd open at nine. Unfortunately, the cleaners opened at eight. If Garrett left to pick up the shirt before she could intercept himâshe shuddered.
SIX
G ARRETT PAUSED AS A knock sounded at the front door. Thatâs strange. Who could that be? âGo ahead and turn on the channel for the parade. Iâll be right in.â
Gracie scampered off into the living room and Garrett opened the door.
âHappy Thanksgiving.â Olivia gave a small wave.
âOlivia? Hi. Happy Thanksgiving.â
She stood on the stoop, wringing her hands.
âWhat are you doing here? Is everything okay?â
âI . . . um . . . uh . . .â
âCome on in.â He stepped back and placed a hand on her lower back as he